DBZ Black Moon
by FangSoul
Summary: Jordane Teague and Gohan Son are two remarkable teenagers who carry the same secret in their blood: they are hybrid descendants of loup-garou and Saiyan lineage. They were born and raised in two different worlds, but now a twist of fate will bring them together for the first time and their worlds will collide as Earth is about to be plunged into an apocalyptic supernatural war.
1. Prologue: Take Me Away

**_BLACK MOON  
><em>**

_**by Jordane M. Arnold**_

_**Based on the story and characters created by Akira Toriyama**_

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><p>I remember the day the earth kept shaking.<p>

I was only eleven when it happened; too young to care as to what it could be other than a typical earthquake.

We were in the middle of second period at school when the first earthquake broke out. Our teacher had instructed us to slide underneath our desks. It must have lasted five minutes or so. The next earthquake hit a half hour later during lunch, a little stronger than the last. The kids who had cell phones were calling their parents, panicking. My friends and I just rode the earthquakes out, with a lingering sense of curiosity.

Before the school day was over, there were a total of five earthquakes, ranging from three-pointers to five-pointers. There were some damages to the skyscrapers downtown, but small towns like mine didn't reap much damage.

By the time we were all leaving school to go home, the chaos seemed to be over—at least, as long as you didn't take society into account.

The whole incident was plastered all over every news channel. The nation was really thrown into a tizzy when other cities and continents around the world recorded similar earthquakes during the same times and all of different magnitude. If I remembered correctly, the earthquakes were stronger off the coasts of the east side of the globe.

For days, people speculated and protested that it was the end of the world, while others accused the government of hiding an inter-global terrorist threat. The President addressed everyone in the U.S., saying the series of earthquakes were nothing but coincidence and nothing to worry about. Then another earthquake hit at the end of that day; in the east, yet again, it was a ten-point quake. Large cities had been halfway demolished. From a fleeting glance in my living room, I caught at an odd news bulletin on the TV that day, the words "Cell Games" stuck out, but just as quickly as they came, they dissolved from my mind.

Since that day, however, no strange disasters followed. So, naturally, the hysteria surrounding it died down, though there were still protestors outside the political capitols of the nation and even around my small town, who all swore the end of the world would still come.

To a careless girl like me, this all meant nothing. I didn't pay attention to it. I still woke up every morning, excited to get school over with so I could return home, play with my best friend, visit my dog, and ride my horse.

However, there were fleeting moments—and even entire days—when the thought crossed my mind that something strange must had gone on in the world for these things to happen. I may not have thought much of the earthquakes and the media hype, but I could feel something in my gut telling me something bigger was going on somewhere far away. What could it have been? I don't know. That was what made it so fascinating; it stirred the deepest fantasies of my limitless imagination, an imagination that fed off my own existence, from the concepts of fantastical lands that others couldn't see, with beings that possessed otherworldly superpowers that were found in comic books and movies.

Ever since I was a small child, these odd events and phenomena materialized in random occurrences. Nothing cataclysmic ever transpired; if anything, the impact was nearly non-existent in my part of the world. Even so, I always felt something coaxing me like a magnetic pull–calling to me—and I yearned to set out to the great beyond and find the source of this supernatural draw. Even if I wouldn't find anything, I still would have gone, just for the adventure.

As the years trudged on, those paranormal sensations ceased, and the closest thing to an "adventure" I'd have was figuring out how to navigate my way through my dreadfully mundane days without hindrance.

It escaped me, however, just how quickly and easily that could all change; a single decision, or meeting just one person, could alter this routine existence, and even shift the course of my destiny.

Buried deep down, I still clung on to that hope; that small, quiet hope, that something—or someone—could come and take me away on an adventure… Take me away so I could be free.

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	2. 1: Normalcy

**Part One**

_"__So bright the flames burned in our hearts,_

_that we found each other in the dark."_

_- Dallas Green_

* * *

><p><strong>1. Normalcy<strong>

**March  
><strong>

**_Jordane_**

The stars were losing their light to the dawn's power, withering away like the sun had shrunk behind the horizon just twelve hours ago; now he returned to reclaim his rule of the sky, an ever-ongoing reminder of the circle of life.

The air was a cold relief to my lungs as hot adrenaline coursed through my body; my feet were aloft and quick, yet still left ghost trails in the moist soil of the hills I bounded. My heart burned with strained exhilaration, the sweat on my skin drying from the rushing wind. The full moon still lingered, unrelenting on her grip of the dying night. Her power was still ever so persuasive, adding little boosts to my already unnatural energy balance that supplied endless vigor. I'd been running for twenty miles straight, not including the circle I'd traveled up north in my wolf pelt. I had grown tiresome and bored of the deficient five-acre park near my house; no _loup-garou_ could live with so little land to roam.

So I'd been running further and further in the mountains that bordered the Columbia River Gorge, safely hidden from sight by thick forests of evergreen trees. I ran the excess of fifty miles on full moon nights, to burn off all my energy before I returned to school the following day.

This was my 'me' time. There was no one else but myself and Mother Nature, free and unrestricted by societal rules or the imprisoning charade I had to play nearly every day. This was the closest I could be to my true self, even if I wasn't entirely sure who that was just yet.

* * *

><p><em>BEEH<em>! _BEEH_! _BEEH_!

That damn alarm clock. I hated the sound of it with a passion. It served its purpose, though. Immediately jarred awake, I reluctantly scooted out from the warmth of my bed and smacked my alarm off. The unforgiving morning chill hit my bare legs and arms. Nighttime temperatures in the beginning of fall were too warm for me to sleep in actual pajamas, because I always got hot during some point in the night; yet it was too cold to not get a chill in the morning, even if one is a werewolf.

Unfortunately, I didn't belong to a family or pack who partook in a werewolf-y lifestyle of living miles away from civilization in the countryside, free to roam wherever I pleased without risk of exposure. Nope, I lived in the suburbs, surrounded by humans; and I had the same horrendously mundane, boring schedule as most teenagers: wake up, go to school, hang with friends, do homework, then go to bed. _So_ fun… Not.

Cringing when my bare feet came in contact with the ice-cold tile of my bathroom, I growled, clutching my arms against myself to stop the shivering. It's mornings like these when I _really_ don't want to go to school.

Treading downstairs after relieving myself, my nocturnal eyes made the dawn darkness appear radiant. My dog Lizzie lied comfortably on her fluffy pillow bed, her deep golden red coat dark and un-shining in the dawn. Upon my gentle call, her kind, retriever's face perked up. I needn't say a word when she got up and trotted over to the back door; our cat Smokey, with his Siamese litheness, came in line right behind her. My other cat, a long-haired mix named Malibu, elected to stay behind and continue sleeping.

As they went about doing their business, my eyes fell on the old open shelter and pen just twenty feet from the house. The one-acre pasture had grown freely, the pen was shoveled clean, and the emptiness of the shed struck an unforgiving chord within my heart. I shut the screen door with an unkind force, pouring food in the dog and cat's bowls.

I proceeded to the kitchen to get me some breakfast; the only thing that sounded good was a peanut butter-chocolate chip granola bar. I never have the appetite to anything when I think of the absence of my other four-legged family member. Only this time, the absence wasn't temporary.

Returning upstairs, I whined as I stripped off my clothes, shivering in anticipation for the hot shower water that waited for me. Just as I always do, I leaned my head against the shower wall and stood there, half-asleep half-awake, letting the hot water pour down and calm my aching muscles. The stuffy humidity from the heat was irritating to breathe in, but it's an inconvenience I would suffer with.

Werewolves could maintain a constant, higher body temperature than humans, but just like humans, it takes a minute for our system to "warm up" to the cold; like starting a car and letting it sit in the mornings, for example. Once body temperature is regulated, it remains even and unaffected as the day and weather change. So if it were to start snowing by noontime, I could go outside in short sleeves and shorts and not feel cold at all.

Mornings, however, were a completely different story. Maybe part of it had to deal with the fact I'm not much of a morning person… Either way, getting warm was a bitch.

Glancing in the mirror and unraveling my towel, my eyes blinked twice to register my hair. Even after two months, I haven't quite gotten used to no longer having my golden brown locks. Don't get me wrong, I liked having black hair, especially with the red streak down the frontal tresses.

My mom wasn't too fond of the change, however; she was worried this was the beginning of a rebellious, gothic trend that would eventually lead to me listening to death metal on a religious basis and cutting my wrists and worshipping not very nice things.

The honest, innocent truth was, I just wanted a different look.

Before heading out to my bus stop, I dawdled through the garage, basking in the perfection of my sixteenth birthday present from two months ago: a coal black Mustang Cobra, brand-spanking-new model and year; complete with front and back spoilers, chrome wheels, fat tires, and honey-combed grill. Inside, an interior made up of my two favorite colors, red and black; a hearty V-Eight engine under the hood, and manual transmission to top it all off.

I'd told my uncles –one, who worked on cars, and the other a car salesman –that the only vehicles I could see myself having were a small Toyota pickup, a new model of Mustang, or a nineteen-seventies Chevy Camaro. Really, I would have been perfectly happy with an older Camaro or a pickup, but when my uncle showed up at my house with this shiny, loaded Mustang, hell, I couldn't complain!

However, I was only sixteen and had just gotten my license a month ago; not quite old enough to drive on my own without a licensed driver over the age of twenty-one. So, I was stuck taking the bus with the rest of my schoolmates.

Meeting me outside in her plain tee-shirt and tight jeans was Amanda, my next-door neighbor and best friend for seven years and counting. "What took ya?" she bantered as we began to walk. "I've been standing out here for forever."

"I was telling my Cobra how much I loved it," I joked, snickering. Amanda shook her head.

"I don't know why you love that kind of car so much. They're so noisy. Not to mention they're gas hogs." Of course, that was Amanda; she hated loud muscle cars while I, on the other hand, drooled over them. Just as how she thought television was a major waste of time, while TV was a part of my daily regimen; how she tended to be attracted to slick-haired, nimble boys in skinny jeans while I had more a soft spot for dark and muscular males who wore loose-fitting jeans and leather jackets; just as how she enjoyed mathematics while I hated it –while I hated school in general. Yes, she and I had many contrasts, but they played just as much a role in our friendship as our similarities.

Once the bus arrived, Amanda chose our routine seat right behind the driver; she sat at the window while I sat on the inside close to the aisle. At our particular stop, there weren't too many students, but as the bus route continued, more and more students filled the seats; the quiet hum of the vehicle became overrun with low chatter and conversation. Amanda and I were the few on the bus who remained death silent as a graveyard.

I simply sat quietly and watched the familiar scenery of our small town pass on by the bus. I've memorized this entire bus ride; I knew each house we passed, each street we turned into, each speed bump, and how many turns it took 'til we're at our high school campus.

We were in the perfect location, nestled right between country mountains, small city, and majestic river views. Everything about Washington State was sheer perfection. Often, though, I'd envy the neighbors behind our suburbia, who had anywhere from five to twenty acres to call their own, while I was stuck with a minuscule one acre. I'm definitely going to move out and get me some nice land when I'm older.

Amanda and I sat until our bus emptied out; the last ones off the bus, we took our time. I yawned as I walked across the congested lot and into the west entrance of the main building. I just wanted so bad to go back home and curl up in my warm bed. I loved to sleep, although it usually took me forever to, and I hated it when sleep had to be interrupted or sacrificed for something like school.

Granted, there were some good things about school for me. One, it was more time spent with my friends, and every now and then, I would learn something interesting and worth my time. I had more an ear for science and art than anything else; classes like math and history were perfect for working on my art skills.

I was just headstrong, too much so for my own good. My mother always said it's been like this since I was a little girl in kindergarten; if something didn't hold my interest, I wouldn't bother with it, and I still carried that stubbornness with me today. But perhaps the main reason why I never liked school was because of the people.

I wasn't a very social person—with humans or other werewolves. In fact, I tried to avoid other werewolves whenever I could, and the main reason for this, was going to be walking into class right behind me. My fists and shoulders were tight in anticipation for Glen Matthews to dampen the already dull mood of the room. My other closest friend, Sara, could feel my tenseness but knew there was nothing she could do to ease it. She knew what was coming.

Finally that short, stalky figure came through the doorway; tan skin, dirt blonde hair of indecisive texture, and a football jersey with our school's purple and black colors. His eyes were what always sickened me–his whole face, actually. Glen finally peered over in my direction, a gesture hardly unintentional; as always, he greeted me with his usual cat's smirk, skipping right on over to where he sat–the table right next to Sara's and mine.

"Mornin', sweet-cheeks," he crooned, resting his chin on his fist to keep his head inclined toward me. I let my long hair fall around my face, blocking my view of him, and his view of me; it was my typical method of avoiding people in the smallest way.

Of course, Glen laughed. "Aw, don't be like that, Teague."

I tried to ignore him, the only thing I could do. Our unobservant math teacher never bothered to do anything with the situation; then again, Glen wasn't stupid, it's not as though he'd harass me or write me notes when Mr. Neil was teaching the class.

I saw Sara give Glen the finger, and I glanced up to make sure Mr. Neil hadn't seen. But of course he didn't; he had his back turned to the class, eyes fixated on his desktop computer. "You know, I get it; you and I got off on the wrong foot two years ago. I should have taken it a bit slower; so how about we get reacquainted? Let's go out sometime." Glen's voice was so damn arrogant and without shame, it made me want to pulverize him right then and there. He may be the most sought-after wolf-boy of Prairie Wind High School, but he was hardly admirable in my book. He was nothing but a sick, cocky, perverted jerk who got off on being sexually demeaning and physically dominant of girls—in an abusive sort.

"Like hell," I spat to his invitation, making my voice thick with malice and detest.

"Your loss."

_Yeah right._

Art was my calm class; a place I could just lose myself in my imagination and do what I love most: draw. I was working on a particular project I was hoping would get placed for the school; it was something I was used to drawing on a daily basis, but knowing it could be seen by all the students on campus, I wanted it to be exquisite.

My heart jumped when I saw another classmate–a werewolf–stroll up to Ms. Crane's desk; my keen hearing picked up he was wanting to submit a piece of his work for the same purpose as I did. Quickly signing my initials at the bottom right corner of my finished piece, I swiftly moved to the teacher's desk, coming in on the last bit of their conversation.

"It's a really good piece, Joseph, but we need a _wolf_, not a werewolf," Ms. Crane said, kindly handing the piece back to him. I raised a brow. Since when have they only wanted "just wolves" for pictures of our school mascot? I've seen wallpapers and illustrations of anthro wolves around our school before.

But maybe, since our mascot was the Timber Wolf, the school wanted to keep it that way.

Joseph grudgingly took back his piece, walking away with a sullen frown. I took his place in front of Ms. Crane's desk; I didn't say anything before I handed her the seventeen-by-twenty piece of paper which held my detailed sketch of a proud alpha wolf snarling, eyes wide and swimming with the wild spirit.

Ms. Crane raised her thin old brows very subtly, but didn't look at me; no slight change in expression let me know she was the slightest impressed, a typical reaction from her. "Is this your submission for the school planner and yearbook?" she asked, her tired old voice coarse and indifferent.

I gave her just as indifferent of an answer. "Yes." I watched her as she examined the piece, waiting to hear her verdict.

"Well, I suppose it'll do. They asked for wolves, and they're here in your piece, so. I'll submit it to the office this afternoon."

"Thanks." I walked away to my desk, more irritated than I was pleased. Ms. Crane was always so indifferent towards my art–and just me in general. Besides Joseph and two other students, I was one of the best artists in the class, as far as talent or ability went. Ninety-five percent of the students were either beginners or kids just taking the class for the credits, and none of them could draw a straight wolf muzzle even if they took all day looking at a reference picture. It'd be nice if the teacher showed me just the slightest recognition or compliment. But no, I was too picky and too hard-headed; I drew what I wanted to draw, not what she had listed on her boring curriculum.

Wandering the halls alone, I was across the campus from my friends and their routines now; the emptiness of company was as alienating as it felt calming. Of course, I couldn't count on outside cabals interfering with my day.

Stopping at my locker for my heavier textbooks that couldn't fit into my book-bag, I had to rummage through all the bags of extra clothes, paper, and supplies to get to those books, as well as make room for the ones I had to trade. If I was a more organized person, it would make small tasks like these as easy as they were meant to be…

Holding both heavy-banded books under one arm and smashing all the contents of my small locker back so I could close the door, I was unprepared to steady myself when something bumped—no, shoved—into my shoulder, sending my books plummeting out of my hand and onto the floor. I managed to keep the mess in my locker from ending up on the floor as well. Looking up, I wasn't the least bit surprised to find Glen far ahead of me, strutting down the hall with his moronic lugs of friends flanking him. The one closest to me—Spencer—looked over his shoulder and grinned mockingly at me with his foul acne-ridden face.

It wasn't just him; all the eyes of Glen's little posse were sneering at me, even the stuck-up bitches on the arms of a few of Glen's friends—just the sort of bitches I'd relish in beating the crap out of under a full moon.

My fingers burned, my nails grinding against the sensitive skin as they grew into claws. I clenched my fist in an attempt to hide them and stop the growth. A fight couldn't break out here; there were too many people—too many witnesses, and too much fodder. With a deep exhale, I only managed to shrug off just enough of the aggressive energy built up inside me to pick up my books and walk the other way.

The rest of the day carried on in a dull blur. Every ten minutes I found myself glancing up at the clock, waiting for the bell to sound. Finally, two o' clock came, and I eagerly shuffled out of my Biology class and for the east exit of the school. I met up with Amanda by our bus; taking our usual seat, I slipped my headphones on, selected a metal band and blasted the volume to drown out the noisy chatter and yelling of the bus' riders. Amanda engaged in a similar action, stuffing the ear-phones into her ears.

I looked out the windows and enjoyed the wet, gray scenery. To many of Washington's residents, they found the wet months to be colorless and stale; the world couldn't be any more different to me. I noticed the submerged beauty and colors—from the greens were still vibrant and of vast shades, the poetically wicked ambiance of the bare tree branches, the thickness and volume of each cloud, right down to how the rain collided with solid mass to create a tiny shower.

I practically lept from the bus steps once the bus arrived at our street, eager to get into my house so I can change my clothes, make something to eat, and do my work-outs.

Amanda strolled next door to her one-story ranch home, while I jogged up to the porch of my two-story country cottage. It was a charming little place with a small country porch and a manicured yard with white post-rail fencing. It was still as charmingly welcoming as the first day Mom first bought it nine years ago.

Inside, the house was small, but in a cozy way. There were some things I wanted to do, though, to add more space but every project I came up with kept being put on the back-burner, due to lack of finances and time.

Opening the door, I was greeted by Lizzie, tail wagging and panting. I fed her and our two cats before retreating to my bedroom to change into a pair of baggy shorts and a tank-top, ready to get to my workouts. This was the only time I could get any workouts in these days, when my mom wasn't home. Why? Well, because she grounded –no, forbade me –from fighting of any kind, even just training.

Why couldn't she understand that physical action is how I unwind after a long day of bull-crap? As for getting in actual fights with people, I didn't mean to. Well, maybe I did, a little; but only when the situation calls for it.

All right, all right, I wasn't a saint, so yes maybe I had instigated a couple fights.

I didn't want to disappoint my mother, or cause her anger or pain, but how could I help something that was so integrated in my DNA?

If she knew half of what I put up with from the other werewolves, she'd think twice about discouraging me from fighting. Then again, I'd never hear the end of her over-protective maternal instincts either way, with me being her only child. For that reason and so many others were why I didn't share much with my mom. We both shared _loup-garou_ blood, but she was light-years away from comprehending just an inkling of what goes on in my head—in my world.

Oh well; other than the fits we get into over subjects like this, I got along fine with my mother, for the most part. It's not like I had a father around to pick my side over hers, anyhow.

I was fine with it being just the two of us, really. People tend to think kids, especially girls, for some reason, who grew up without a father feel like they are missing something within themselves and that they can never be whole. Such isn't the case with me; I knew all the basics about my dad: his name was Jeremiah, he was killed in a car accident, and he was an "alien" species called "Saiyan".

Well, they were only alien because they came from a different planet, I suppose. But Saiyans looked perfectly human on the outside, save for a long, furred tail—a trait which I did not possess due to my mother having it removed when I was born. I often pondered on the humor of any doctor's reaction to my infant Saiyan tail. And truth be told, I was glad I didn't have a Saiyan tail, which my mother described as "monkey-like". I was quite happy of the one tail I had in wolf form, thank you very much.

The Saiyan trait was very, very, _very_ potent in my genetic and mental makeup; aside from abnormal strength and stamina that I barely noticed apart from my werewolf endowments, I inherited my father's short temper, according to my mom. She and my grandmother both never stop bickering about it.

It's just who I am, was what I've always told myself. I'm not perfect; no one is, no matter how much they'd like to pretend they are.

My appetite wouldn't wait for after my "training" sessions; so, I moved to the kitchen to make myself a small meal—small by my standards, anyways. In reality, it would be the size of a typical meal for an ordinary individual.

Some have said I had the appetite of a truck driver, but that's just how my diet had always been since I hit puberty. Mom said Dad had an oversized appetite too; she theorized it is part of my Saiyan genes.

In the living room, I did various stretches and exercises to warm myself up. After my late lunch was done cooking, I sat down to eat in front of the TV.

After inhaling my food, I retreated to the garage, where my scarred, torn punching bag hung in the work area just behind the utility room. It was hardly the ample space I needed to do the workouts I used to do. Mom was nice enough to sacrifice garage space so I could have a workout area, but ever since she "banned" me from anything that had to do with fighting, she only let me use the seven-by-ten workspace while using the other side of the garage for storage. She let me keep and use my punching bag, at least; these days though, even that isn't enough to curb my anger.

To my displeasure, my workout only lasted for fifteen minutes. My mind was too jumbled and disorganized for me to focus on exerting my anger into physical action. With a frustrated sigh, I plopped down on the couch in the living room, staring at the mahogany-colored walls decorated with pictures of open-range pastures and horses. There was a large house plant in the corner by the windows, a brick fireplace being the centerpiece of the room, lined with various decorations and picture frames of me as a kid. School pictures, more specifically. The furniture was black leather–something my mother and I both had a liking for–openly spaced and organized.

I looked over at Lizzie, who lay on her bed over by the fireplace. Upon my eyes meeting hers, her ears perked up. At seven years old, her muzzle was beginning to gray, her golden-red fur taking on a more shaggy texture and thickness. Suddenly, Lizzie's longevity came to my mind, and I gazed up at a picture of me sitting bareback on a big dapple gray horse. In the picture, I was only shy of twelve, with a big smile on my face and my bright brown hair in that wretched girlie haircut I'd hated so much.

It's only been six months, but it often felt like a lifetime ago—it was an amazing contrast how happy I was with that horse in my life. All of the ways and reasons I should have lost my innocence and happiness before then, but it took a barn fire to char my heart.

Five horses were killed in that fire, and I could still hear their screams and whinnies often in my nightmares–especially of the one horse who depended on me and trusted me with his life. And for what? Because some spoiled bitch had her horse rightfully seized when she refused to care for it, so she wanted to get back at those of us who had a hand in it?

I didn't realize I'd started crying 'til a teardrop fell down on my hand. I wiped my tired, watery eyes and took deep breaths to calm myself down. It wasn't just the pain of missing him that tugged at my heartstrings; I felt like I failed Ziggy—I failed as a horse owner to keep him safe. I should have gotten there right after school; I shouldn't have gone home to have dinner. I should have gotten there first thing to turn him out to pasture…

The phone blared and bounced against the walls, startling me from my self-loathing. Taking long strides to the kitchen, I answered the phone. It was my grandfather.

"How's my girl doing?"

"Fine, I guess." My voice was low, without tone.

"You guess?" He chuckled in that friendly, lighthearted way I remembered from childhood; the same laugh he always gave whenever I'd say or do something silly.

After conversing over school, home, and pets my grandfather brought up the subject I thought about every other day. "How's horse-hunting? Found any you might like?"

"I haven't really been looking lately," I confessed honestly, sitting at the serving counter.

"Well, it's been a year, hasn't it? Maybe it's time. Besides, you should while we still have the money."

My brows pulled together at his last sentence. "While we still have the money"? What's that supposed to mean?

"Maybe," I sighed. I knew my grandfather wanted to get me another horse; not just because he loved to spoil me, but because he was witty and observant enough to perceive a part of me had died with Ziggy in that fire. What was worse, I had no body to bury; I couldn't even retrieve his ashes because everything had been burned to dust.

The man had been as much a father to me as I'd ever have and he wasn't even related to me by blood. My grandmother remarried after divorcing my mother's biological werewolf father when she was little. Even to my mom, my Grandpa was as much a father as any; he was a human who married into a family of werewolves, and he loved all of us as if we were his blood.

After wishing each other a good night, we hung up and I went back to deciding what I was going to do with the rest of my night. _Well, that homework isn't going to get itself done._

* * *

><p>The weekend, finally! I exhaled joyously as I plopped myself down on my bed, as Mom got to making dinner downstairs. The setting sun was painting the sky a dark orange and pink, creating a relaxing essence to end the day. Once dinner was ready I joined Mom downstairs to watch some TV while we ate. We weren't exactly a family who sat at a dinner table and talked about our day; every once and a while on a good day, I'd eat dinner with her in the living room and watch television, but most of the time I stuck to my room.<p>

After cleaning up and putting the dishes in the dishwasher, I retreated back to my room to get some art done. However, as always, there would be something to interrupt my concentration even through my headphones. Dismounting my seat I walked over to my east-side window, where the west side of Amanda's house faced mine.

"It's just a B!"

"No, it's a B minus! What happened? You've been an A student all the way up to now. Why the change?" Amanda's father, John, ranted and raved, flapping a piece of paper as Amanda picked up her two rabbits from the garden.

"Why does it matter? I'm still passing!"

"Now, that's what I don't want; I don't want you to start getting by on just 'good enough' grades! You're not going to get that scholarship with just 'good enough' grades!" John's chubby face was beat red and scowling. I couldn't see Amanda's face, but I had an idea of what expression she was giving her father.

"It's just a progress report! They're not even my final grades for the trimester! Just leave it alone!" Amanda shrieked helplessly, carrying her rabbits into the house.

"Don't you walk away from me—!" John chased her into the house, but I could tell his tirade wasn't finished. I huffed, scowling down at the house. Unfortunately for Amanda, her mother wasn't home from work yet, so no one would be around to save her. Her father was never a pleasant man, but when left alone with Amanda, he drilled and broke her down with any little thing he could use.

The man could easily fool people, though, I'll give him that. For a few years he had my mother and I under the impression he was a nice family man. Well, that all changed when Amanda was inflicted with a plate of emotional problems back in middle school because of the pressure her father had put on her. Even to this day, he wanted her to be perfect. One of his biggest peeves about her was that she's a tomboy like me; he wanted her to be feminine, wear makeup, dress appealing, and whatnot. As a father, he should be thankful he had a daughter like Amanda, someone who was independent, enjoyed being herself and didn't need to date boys to be happy.

Another reason as to why he didn't particularly tolerate Amanda around me so much, because I only continued to influence her to be the way she was; but I could care less what that garbage thought of me.

Setting my projects aside for the time being, I packed up a few clothes and other essentials, sneaking out my window and to our garage, which I was able to open from the outside. Before heading for the 4-Runner, at the last minute, I removed the tarp covering my coal black Cobra; temptation ate at me until I couldn't put it off any longer. I would get a lot of grief for this later, but I didn't care. A friend's gotta do what a friend's got to do.

Throwing my duffel bag in the backseat, I then slunk on over into Amanda's backyard. Upon finding her bedroom window and peeking in, I found her petite figure curled up by her bed. I gently tapped on the high window, not surprised when I saw her face red and wet with tears.

"Please don't tell me you heard my dad's rant," she drawled, embarrassed.

"I think the whole neighborhood heard it," I answered honestly. "Come on, we're getting outta here." Upon seeing her clueless reaction, I elaborated. "I'm taking you to spend the weekend at my grandparents'. You need it."

"What?" Amanda's eyes went wide. "Jordane, I can't just run off! I'll get in trouble—you'll get in trouble!"

I scoffed harshly. "Like I'm afraid of your dad, Amanda! Seriously, the way he treats you isn't right. Besides, he already doesn't like me, so what am I jeopardizing by giving you a weekend vacation away from home?" It didn't take much more convincing; Amanda handed me both her mini-lop rabbits in their small exhibition 4-H cage and I carried them through the yard and to my car. Having the bunnies safely nestled in the back, I started the car, relishing in the reverberating purr of the engine, and I pulled out just as Amanda was taking a bee-line across her yard. I heard her father yelling as he came storming out the front door.

Once Amanda closed her door, I slipped out of the driveway and bolted down the street. At this time of day, no one was around to be concerned with hurting anybody.

When the adrenaline had finally left, I noticed Amanda was still rigid and worried in her seat. "He's pissed. When I show my face there again, I am so dead…"

"Your dad can yell at me, Amanda. It's not your fault I basically kidnapped you." I had to continue comforting Amanda the entire ten-minute drive to my grandparents' house, out by the riverside in Camas. Traveling on the so familiar desolate country road, one wouldn't think cul-de-sacs of mini-mansion luxury homes would sit so elegantly perched on hilltops. I remembered being able to memorize every crack and pothole in the road even from childhood, when I'd ride with my grandfather every day after school in his old GMC pickup. As cliché as it sounded, I often missed those days when I looked forward to going places for the people. These days, I mostly wanted to be as far away from people as possible.

Driving through several winding stretches of residential streets, we finally reached the downward slope my grandparents' custom, modest house sat at the bottom of. For me, the structure stood as a sense of safety and comfort as much as my own home did. I spent so much of my childhood here, I might as well call it my second home rather than our family restaurant.

By this time, dusk had given way to full-blown night and though you couldn't see the Columbia River, you could see the shimmering lights that made up Oregon on the other side.

Since I didn't have a garage door opener, Amanda and I had to go in through the front door. The surprised, youthful face of my grandmother greeting me never gets old. "Well, hey there, girls! I didn't know you were coming over." When she took a quick but thorough glance at Amanda's still emotional face, she knew there was a good reason for our unannounced visit. "I was just making dinner. If you want, I could add some more—"

"Grandma, it's okay. Amanda and I will make our own dinner."

"Are you sure? We're having parmesan chicken breast," my grandmother sang in her usual delightful tone she always used when she wanted to emphasize excitement. I leaned in closer to her and whispered, "She's vegetarian, Grandma. Remember?"

"Oh!" She giggled, giving Amanda an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Amanda, it's easy to forget, when we don't have very many, well, 'normal' guests come around." Amanda nodded with her typical shy smile.

"Well, girls, go get settled in the bedroom and get yourselves some dinner."

It was so nice to not feel anxiety or worry around Amanda in regards to my family. None of my friends had met any of my family past my mother; Amanda was the only human who's ever had intimate encounters and knowledge of my family's private wolfen life, yet she seemed totally content about it. She had no problem whatsoever sleeping over in a house full of werewolves.

Once settled in one of the generous spare bedrooms with two identical twin-sized beds with matching colorful comforters, we set our things down and headed for the kitchen to whip up some grub. I cut up a piece of chicken Grandma had made and put it in some fettuccini-alfredo—one of my favorite home-made dishes—along with a pinch of garlic and even more parmesan! Amanda, having none of her tofu or vegetarian-variety foods, simply had a salad, fruit bowl, and a sandwich.

"That's a lot of parmesan," she pointed out randomly as I continued to pour grated cheese on my pasta. I looked at her artlessly, shrugging.

"I love parmesan," I replied as-matter-of-factly, taking a messy bite of my masterpiece dish.

Basking in the peace and tranquility of my grandparents' house was just the escape I needed. I could tell it was a similar effect for Amanda, as well, for she was no longer tense and depressed. Instead, she made herself comfortable on one of the beds and drew in her sketchbook as I did mine. Both her rabbits frolicked happily around the spacious room before finally planting themselves down by their litter box.

Neither of us stayed up later than eleven; in fact, we beat my grandparents to bed that night. I could imagine why Amanda would be tired, but I didn't realize I was just as exhausted. Then again, looking out for Amanda was a full-time job for me, but I was happy to do it. I didn't have a wolf-pack of my own to look after; my human friends were the next closest thing.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Amanda and I rose early to take a morning jog down the hillside highway in the neighborhood. Light fog loomed over the desolate streets and railroad, making us mere silhouettes on the side of the road. The chilling morning air was refreshing to my lung with each breath I took; while I simply wore shorts and a tank-top, Amanda was clad in her sweatshirt and sweatpants.<p>

"You know what? You and I should move out and live together when we turn eighteen," I randomly expressed as we slowed down to a leisurely walk.

"Where will we live?" Amanda snickered, though I could tell the idea intrigued her.

"We could live here with my grandparents for a little while. It'd be the first step toward that dream we always talked about when we were fourteen." I nudged her arm and laughed. She smiled, her quirky but cute teeth only accentuating the uniqueness of her personality.

"What, you mean buy dozens of acres of land and have a stable full of horses?"

"Well, I could have the stable, and you could have a bunny rescue," I added, liking the idea more with each minute of contemplation. Amanda rode horses and was in equine 4-H with me, but she couldn't find herself owning a horse. She was one of those people who enjoyed the privilege of a horse's companionship on a variable basis.

"That could be something we can work toward, don't you think?"

"I guess." I knew that tone. It was Amanda's "I like it but I'm not sure" voice. I tilted my head, asking her to elaborate on her unsure statement. "I just mean, you know, we've got to consider other things that may change. Like, if one of us got a boyfriend or something; I'm sure we'd want privacy."

I raised a sharp brow, glancing down at the ground. "Boyfriends, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, who knows we may want to have someone in our lives sometime." While Amanda's point was very logical, I shrugged at the idea.

"I'm not so sure about myself. I just don't see myself having any desire to date anyone. I mean, heck, my mother has spent sixteen years on her own since my dad died and she's been happy."

"How can you be so sure? You and your mom don't talk about stuff like that, not in detail, anyways. She could feel lonely still," Amanda countered. "And besides, she dated that one guy, her ex-boyfriend from many many years ago once, didn't she?"

That was yet another point, but I knew my mother; if she wanted a man in her life and in mine, she would have found one by now. She's mentioned that having me had changed her outlook on life, including her previous thoughts of needing a man to keep her happy. I figured, if my mother could live her life without a spouse or mate, I could too.

"I suppose we'll see, won't we." I wouldn't argue. I knew I was going to move onto a generous piece of property in Vancouver so I could have horses. I would like to have Amanda move in with me, and perhaps she would for a while until she wanted something different. But for the time being, I had my plans for the next ten years set in stone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, that concludes a very long setup for my main OC, Jordane Teague, the oddball tomboy Saiyan/werewolf hybrid. **

**This story is rated M for (brief) bouts of strong language, violence, and sexual situations/scenes later on—all of which involve teenagers. I probably didn't need to rate it M because the swearing is kind of minimal in comparison to most/what you'd think, and any sexual situations there will be are going to be tastefully written/not go into too much detail, but I still think it might be unfitting for teenagers 17 and under…call me old fashioned. Better to be safe than under or mis-rate it. **

**Like what you've read so far? I'd really appreciate a review! :)**

**-J**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	3. 2: And This is What I Get

**2. And This Is What I Get…**

**_Jordane_**

"Wow, so your mom stood up to him, huh?"

"Yup, finally. The ass deserved to be stomped like the bug that he is." Reaching down into the hood, I installed the camshafts after Paul finished putting in the intake valves. This was where I spent every weekend I could—at my uncle's house, burying myself in the hoods and undersides of old muscle cars with my older cousin.

"No kid should have a dad like that," Paul agreed. I'd spent the last fifteen minutes telling him about the drama that happened at home once Amanda and I returned from my grandparents'. John had gotten so pissed he came pounding on my door, demanding we return Amanda home at once and that I be met with the upmost punishment. My mother, being as fed up with John as she was, told him to get the hell off our property and if he even so much as raised his voice with Amanda we'd call the police. Even after Amanda had gone home, I heard no distant yelling or distress that night; a relief which would allow me to sleep contentedly.

"Hey, Paul!" The son of my uncle's neighbor—and Paul's best friend—was jogging across the street and came for the garage. The scene at his house was similar to ours; garage open, a truck up on jacks with a couple guys hovering around its hood and underbelly. I didn't care to linger on that, though; the presence of my cousin's best friend was more than enough to merit my whole attention.

Zach asked Paul for a tool, and when his dark eyes found mine, I straightened up.

"Bro, is this your little cousin?"

"Yep," Paul verified proudly.

"No way…your little baby cousin Jordane? Holy crap, kid, you've grown up."

I knew I was smiling like a dork, but I couldn't help it. For as long as I could remember, Zach Belinger always stirred a butterflies-in-the-stomach effect in me. Hell, the man was tall with handsome, bold features—and he carried himself the way an honorable, dignified young soldier would. The sculpted arms and chest didn't hurt, either.

"You hitting those books?" Zach asked, just as Paul handed him the tool he needed.

Nodding, I answered, "Yeah."

"Good. Intelligence is an important thing." He grinned. "I'm sure you've got boys lining up to date you left and right. You don't indulge any of them do ya?"

I shook my head, answering both questions, unknown to Zach, probably.

"Thatta girl. No need to waste your time with boys now. They're stupid at that age."

"Trust me, I know," I said, my voice a little looser. Zach and Paul both shared a snicker, giving each other a pat on the back and he went on his way. With my head still rather empty, I just gawked at Zach as he jogged across the street, his gait heavy but somehow still graceful. I scaled his exposed arms, swinging leisurely by the time he slowed to a walk. _Damn, why does my cousin have to have such a hot best friend? _

"See something you like, Jo?" Paul chuckled, nudging his elbow into my back. Blushing, I glared at him.

"Shut up," I grumbled, directing my scattered attention back to the hood of the car.

"You're allowed to be a girl and crush on a guy every once in a while, you know—even if he is way too old for you."

"Whatever."

Thoughtful silence followed as Paul rejoined me in our previous activity; the air around us was thick with silent words hanging unspoken in his throat.

"You know, I kind of wish Zach wasn't being deployed too, so he could keep an eye on you after I leave next month." There was a tentative hue to the end of Paul's sentence, for he knew me enough to figure I would want him to elaborate. Indeed, lifting my head from the metal innards of the car's hood, I stared at my cousin, puzzled.

"Leave? Where are you going?"

Resting his elbows on the car, he tapped a wrench to his other palm. "I got called for duty last week; both Zach and I did. We have to head out in a few weeks."

I stared at Paul blankly as he delivered the news I was hoping to never hear. As a family member of a Marine or any military personnel, for them to never have to see combat is something you pray for. "You're going to the Middle East?" I murmured numbly.

Nodding, Paul smiled. It was hardly happy, though; he was only giving the gesture to break the tension. "I'm going serve a few months at sea, but yeah, I'll see land eventually."

I fiddled with the oil-smeared rag I had in my hand, nodding absently. "How long are you going to be gone?"

Paul shrugged, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Ah, I don't know; could be a year or more." I didn't bother hiding my discomfort of the news; Paul was one of the few people in my life I could be myself with—no filters, no barriers. He'd always been the brother I never had. And now he's going away to war; my safety net, my brotherly cousin who always looked out for me was going away. The more I thought of it, the more it pricked at my tender heart like cacti spines.

"I'll be fine, Jordane, and you'll be fine. You're one of the strongest people I know; you can hold down the fort here without me." Giving me his kind, assuring smile, Paul walked over to the sink off the wall of the garage, wetting a cloth and running it over his darkened hair.

Was I the physically strongest person he knew? Yes. Was I mentally or emotionally the strongest? _I'm not so sure anymore… _

* * *

><p>I knew I'd avoided it long enough. I would say I didn't know why I was so nervous when my topic was something I was passionate about, but then again, I already knew the answer; I've always had terrible stage-fright. I hated standing up in front of crowds to do anything—<em>especially<em> when it came to giving presentations in school.

Our school assignment this week in Social Studies was to pick something in our community we thought should be changed, or something we'd like to change, and write a paper about it. I could have cracked down on anything; curfews, housing, schools, or anything of the norm. Instead, I picked something very close to my heart, something I knew needed to be changed.

Just about a mile's walk from my home was a small one-acre property with two horses; they were both mares, one a palomino and the other a crème. The owner's daughter Tiffany was in 4-H, but both her and her mother were a disgrace to the name of horsemanship.

Last year, both horses became underweight and suffered from other various ailments. Animal Control was contacted, and I tried my hand with convincing the owner to open her eyes and realize she was doing something wrong; nothing was done. Those horses were still in the same condition as last year—emaciated, filthy, and living in unsanitary dwellings. From what I could tell, Tiffany and her mother alike valued their manicured nails and window shopping more than they valued their horses.

If I couldn't get it through the owners' thick heads or make Animal Control see what was wrong, then I needed to resort to a sort of community outreach. And what better place to do this than in school, with Tiffany sitting in the same class I was about to present to?

Once the third to last student finished, I eagerly raised my hand for Mrs. Brown to call me. With her kind smile, she called my name and I nervously walked up to the podium. I set my papers down and slid my USB drive into the computer, which was connected to a projector. Mrs. Brown encouraged us to add images or power-points to our project; it wasn't required, but I decided to go for the extra credit and add the effect. Trying to keep my eyes away from Tiffany, I simply stared out to the expectant faces of my classmates.

"Whenever you're ready, Jordane," Mrs. Brown said, her dark brown eyes patient behind optical lenses. Taking a deep breath, I began.

"The issue I decided to highlight is actually something quite personal to me, kind of close to my heart. But regardless, I strongly believe it's something in our community that needs to be changed." My voice was fast and shaky, so I took a subtle sigh to begin my main presentation, reading from the fine text I had in front of me.

"Animal neglect and abuse are two different definitions; abuse refers to an animal who is physically beaten or injured by humans. Neglect refers to an animal that is instead denied its essentials to survive and is either abandoned or left to fend for itself with minimal to no care at all. Such incidences can be the owner forgets or is too lazy to provide the animal water or food; the owner does not get the animal veterinary care, even in emergencies, and so on and so forth.

"Although both are expansive epidemics, neglect is probably the most difficult to spot and to take legal action on, especially for certain types of animals the general public may not be too familiar with. My prime example for this is horses. When you drive by a pasture in the country or come across the stables and arena at our fairgrounds, you may see big, beautiful animals who appear very well-loved and taken care of; when really, probably sixty-five percent of the time, that is not the case. When not being shown and ridden in county fairs and shows, some horses are just left to fend for themselves and feeding time is the only seldom interaction they have with their owners.

"An amplified example of this scenario is two horses I know right in our very town, who reside in a small, overgrazed pasture on the side of a-hundred-and-twelfth avenue." With this, my heart began thumping against my chest as I clicked the Enter button on the keyboard and brought up a photo of the two mares standing by the fence. "These horses' names are Goldie and Angel. They are two sweet mares who, unfortunately, are a case of pathetic neglect right in our community. Their owners may seem to be reputable horse people who know what they're doing and who care for their horses; they've even built a little doll-house-like purple and pink-trim barn on their property, decorated with ribbons and banners on the inside. But there is a dark underbelly to this seemingly normal situation."

I clicked the arrow button and displayed pictures of the muck mess in the pen and barn. "One of the primary rules of owning horses is to muck out a stall or pen daily to semi-daily. And for good reason, since horses defecate up to fifty pounds of manure in a day. However, the owners of Goldie and Angel don't seem to find any urgency or importance in making sure their horses have a clean place to retreat to for shelter or to lie. Only once in an entire year have the owners been observed to muck out the stall—_once_ a year. In climates like ours, you can't help the accumulation of mud, but as you can see in the pictures here, the texture and color of the soup you see in the pen is not of mud. It has the color of feces, and you can even still see non-decomposed manure clumps in the mess. Add about six quarts of urine per day to that. Would that be something you want to walk through every single day? Would you want that to be what you have to stand in whenever you want to get out of the rain or snow?" My voice was climbing to higher, more passionate octaves now, and I gained confidence with each sentence.

"Aside from the degenerate, neglected property, the horses themselves are in terrible shape." The next pictures on the slide were of the horses' thin, shaggy bodies. "These horses look like something you'd see on an Animal Cop show; yet, the owners don't see anything wrong with their horses' condition. Even inexperienced Animal Control officers took the owner's word that these are show horses and they're supposed to look like this.

"Both horses show signs and symptoms of these various ailments: thrush, lameness, rain scald, and mange. They are also at risk for colic, an often fatal disorder affecting the horse's intestines which can be the result of impaction, inadequate feeding or diet, ingestion of foreign materials, and other such causes. If these owners can overlook their horses when they're in this present state, who's to say they won't write it off as normal when these horses are rolling and thrashing on the ground and are in extreme pain with colic due to being fed hay in their own parasite-infested feces?" I was pleased with the reaction I got to this; some people grimaced and twisted their faces with the picture I just painted for them.

"To give change to these horses has been a mission of mine for four years. I've tried talking to the owners, I've looked to Animal Control for help, but no one will do anything about these horses. This is a sad thing about neglect. It can only get to such a degree to the point where someone will recognize it and do something about it. Most of the time, when action is finally taken for an animal, it's too late to save it or it only makes for a longer road to recovery and puts the animal in more discomfort and pain. The residents and people are a community's biggest asset and voice; if others can stick up for these horses, maybe some good will finally come to end their day-to-day suffering. Thank you."

My heart pounded against my ribs as the class applauded lightly. I either made a complete fool of myself or I became the newest class hero; I could care less. I was too busy basking in the pleasure I felt upon finally honing in on Tiffany's face. Even under all the pounds of unnecessary makeup, I could see she was tomato red, her breathing hard, and hazel eyes stricken. I refrained from smirking, but I'm sure the look I exchanged with her said all I wanted to say.

_How do you like me now?_

I went through the rest of the classes with my head held high in pride. There was some tension, however; over fifty percent of the class knew Tiffany, and just about sixty percent of them recognized those horses because just about everyone who goes to this school has to drive or walk past their property to get anywhere. I was surprised Tiffany didn't try and snatch my head off once class was over.

Ah wait, I told myself, as I sat with my little crowd of friends and spotted Tiffany's eyes locked on me as she strolled up. The common room was filled with scattered groups of students stretching their legs and mingling; too busy for anyone to turn around and predict a cat-fight.

"You really are a bitch with a lot of nerve, you know that?" Tiffany snarled in a weak voice, her excessively tanned face twisted into an ugly grimace. "How _dare_ you pull something like that, in front of everyone?!"

Unfazed by her anger, I simply shrugged, leaning from the wall and back onto my feet while my friends simply stood wordlessly tense beside me. "You had it coming to you. It's not just the fact you didn't listen to what I've had to say, but you're arrogant enough to think you're right and everyone else is wrong, no matter what they say or offer as proof."

Tiffany snorted, flicking her long dark hair off to one side of her shoulder; she pursed her lips into a dissatisfied pucker. "Don't you have anything better to do than go around poking your nose in other peoples' business and spreading rumors they're starving their horses?"

"Don't _you_ have anything better to do than walk around the mall drooling over shoes and mope about how it's been a whopping twenty-four hours since the last time you were in a tanning bed?" I snapped back, a little defiant whip in my tone.

Tiffany planted a hand on her hip. "Oh, I think I get what this is all about. Your horse dies and now you're jealous of everyone who has a horse?"

An aggressive chill struck my back at the mention of Ziggy. "My horse is gone because of powder-puff, prissy girls like you who were too freakin' lazy and stupid to take care of their horse. I suggest you watch where you're treading."

"That doesn't give you the right to take photos of other people's horses and show them to everybody and tell lies!" Tiffany was within inches of me now, the stench of expensive perfume and makeup foundation nearly choking me. I didn't focus on the faces around us; whether we'd caught the entire room's attention or not wasn't my concern. I was just honed in on Tiffany, about to let loose all the things I've been dying to say to her for years. For so long, I've kept quiet and timid over matters that were important to me—I've never dared to take that bold step to stand up for what I believed in so that the whole world could hear me.

Today, that would change.

"Are you freakin' blind?! Your horses are losing their fur, their ribs and spine can be seen _and_ felt! You never bathe or groom them, you're keeping them in a pool of their own feces and urine, and you have the _nerve_ to say they're show horses and that you love them?! Bullshit! You're just a spoiled little brat who is an utter disgrace to horsemanship!"

I went right up in her face as I bellowed, causing her to take a couple steps back. For each step she took, however, I closed the distance. "I've spent more time with those horses in the past four years than you have in a single year! You know nothing about horses or horsemanship; you _deserve_ to have Goldie and Angel taken away!" I heard some faint, assertive voices in the background, but I didn't flinch or break my maddened, frenzied stare on Tiffany. I could see in her eyes she was scared of me, but her cold outer shell only continued to mirror her arrogance.

"I _do_ love my horses, and you have no right to say I don't," she struck back, her attempt to snarl a pitiful choke. "I've had them since I was little, and I ride them each year in the fair—"

"Oh, please, someone give her owner of the year award!" I announced with heavy cynicism. "You're full of shit! You need to wake up! If you don't make a change and start taking care of Angel and Goldie, I swear to you I won't rest until they're being led off your property, into a trailer, and far away from you!"

"You know, you're quite full of it yourself! If you're such a _gooood_ horse owner, then why did you let your horse die, huh?" An animalistic snarl ripped from my mouth, making her flinch back with wide eyes. But even that didn't stop her from continuing on, "You let your horse die and you have the nerve to turn around and say I'm abusing my horses? What a hypocrite! You deserved to have your horse burn to death in that fire, you punk-ass bitch!"

There was no thought, no human voice of reason; with a hiss my fist flew forward and into Tiffany's petite jaw, and with it my last thread of human restraint severed. As she stumbled back my other hand had grown claws and I took a swing at her collar, ripping at her sparkling new tunic. I opened my mouth ajar and let out a deafening, enraged roar at Tiffany as she lied curled up on the tile floor.

I didn't do anything more, as much as that rush consumed my body. I had my display of dominance, I'd given her more reason to fear me, that was good enough; even if I was pissed off enough to kill her, I didn't think I could…

Not daring to look at the faces around me, I swerved around, grabbed my bag and hauled ass for the exit. Unfortunately for me, a security guard had already been called and collided with me around the corner.

* * *

><p>"Jordane Marie Teague, what in the HELL is <em>wrong with you<em>?!" Mom screeched at me, her voice bouncing off the walls.

"She provoked me! She said I deserved what happened to Zig; I couldn't control it!" For the slightest moment, my mother's red face had relaxed.

"Well, then, she's just a heartless bitch and only proves your point, but to attack her and almost reveal your true nature to your schoolmates in the process!? Jesus Christ Lord in Heaven, Jordane, you're goddamn lucky no one saw you change!"

I was fuming. I was furious at everybody; Tiffany, my teachers, the security guard, my mother… "No, Tiffany's lucky I didn't phase into my wolf form and tear her apart—"

"_EXCUSE_ ME?! Don't you _dare_ say that! Next time I hear something like that out of your mouth I'm stuffing two bars of soap in it, am I clear?!"

"Maybe Orbit gum would be a better choice. 'For a good clean feeling, no matter what'," I retorted in a British accent.

"Go to your room. Your ass is officially grounded indefinitely until I say otherwise!" My mother's verdict of discipline and the roar that came with it made my shoulders hunch and my spine tuck my tailbone inward. When it came to the nitty-gritty, my mother was the alpha female; as a lower wolf and her offspring, the instinct to obey her overturned my defiance.

Snarling, I loped up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door.

* * *

><p>With a three-day suspension on my plate, I had way too much time on my hands. I spent it mostly drawing and writing poetry; I even managed to write a couple poems, which could potentially be turned into songs.<p>

My mother once told me, in half-frustrated humor, how it was difficult to fully discipline me as a child. It wasn't that she couldn't be a firm parent; it's that simple things brought me contentment. She told me she couldn't threaten me with anything because as long as I had paper and crayons, I would just sit in my room and draw away my punishment time. Of course, it never took much for me to learn my initial lesson, but here I was for the first time in quite a few years, making isolated time fly by doing nothing more than drawing lines on paper.

One afternoon, I sat pondering on the incident at school. Recalling each moment and the end result, I found myself rather surprised I didn't show any of my Saiyan powers. Usually, when emotionally tampered with, my Saiyan abilities are let loose instead of my wolfen instincts. Then again, there could be a different trigger for each reaction… Sometimes I let the wolf take action, other times I let my inner 'alien' out.

Since my father died before I was born—and he was the only Saiyan on this earth most likely—I've grown up with no clue how to control my abilities, or what I was even capable of, for that matter. The closest thing I've had to a breakthrough is summoning a small ball of light—or energy, I suppose I could call it—in the palm of my hand. I could never make it grow more than the size a golf ball and within seconds it snuffed out like a weak flame.

It was such a weird process…

Intrigued, I brought my arm and rested it on my desk and stared into my palm, trying to recall that nameless force in the pit of my gut to bring forth a spark of energy. It happened so fast I didn't ever really discern what steps I took; I just felt the strangest sensation of vertigo and a pale blue ball of energy materialized in my palm. For the few moments it sat idly in my hand, I looked at it, trying to dissect it with my eyes and study it. But of course, within ten seconds, it evaporated and I couldn't summon it again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Unfortunately, when it comes to setting up a story and its characters, I take FOREVER -_- My OC has one hot temper…gotta love Saiyans! **

**A little trivia: my character Jordane Teague's mission to save the 2 horses Angel and Goldie is derived/based off my own similar real-life experience with 2 neglected horses in my town. **

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	4. 3: Sanctuary

**3. Sanctuary**

**January**

**_Gohan_**

"Go-haaaaann!" I heard my little brother cry, disturbing me from my homework yet again for the fourth time today. "Trunks keeps cheating!" The little black-haired tyke came running from the playroom and over to me in the den. He looked up at me with those big, black and innocent eyes; the eyes only a four-and-a-half-year-old could have.

"Go tell Aunt Bulma or Mom," I mumbled, struggling to keep my place in the large advanced calculus textbook I had in front of me.

"Then he'll just call me a tattle-tail!" Goten whined, patting at my knee with his small fist. I exhaled deeply. I loved my baby brother to death, but he did not make getting my homework done easy in the slightest. He always wanted to play, wanted me to read him a story, wanted to go for a ride, wanted me to play referee, or wanted me to kiss his owhie better. The list went on.

For some reason, he always came to me for these things, rather than my father or mother or any other adult that was around. "Goten, I don't know what you expect me to do about it. I'm not a grown up, so Trunks won't listen to me. If you want Trunks to stop cheating, then you go tell Mom or Aunt Bulma and they'll take care of it. But I've got to finish my homework. Do you know why?" I inclined my head to look into the pathetic, begging eyes of my brother. He shook his head. "Because I have to give it to the teacher tomorrow. So if I don't finish my homework tonight, then it won't be finished tomorrow; I could get in trouble. You know those good grades I always get? That'll go bye-bye if I don't get my homework done."

The little tyke's big black eyes got even bigger. Those looks he got on his face never ceased to amuse me. He was smart enough to know by now if I got bad grades, I'd have to deal with a tirade of fury from our mother.

I fought to hide a smile. "Now, it's because of that, we don't bother Big Brother when he's trying to finish his homework. So go tell Mom about Trunks, if it's bugging you that much."

It turned out, I didn't need to tell him to go look for my mother; she came and found him. "Goten! What did I tell you about bothering your brother during his studies!" An average-sized, black-haired woman came storming from the kitchen, still wearing the apron from cooking. While Goten and myself both inherited ninety-nine percent of our father's appearance and features, we did have subtle differences; both Goten and our father have the same hair pattern and the same peachy tone of skin. I, on the other hand, had my mother's pale, nearly milk-white complexion, my short hair of my own messy, disheveled style.

"Okay, Mommy." Goten crawled away like a submissive omega wolf with his tail tucked between his legs. Poor kid. Anyone of the male or female kind knew where my mother stood in the hierarchy. It didn't matter whether or not she and we, her half-bred sons, were werewolves; nobody of any species challenged my mother's authority. Even Piccolo could vouch for that, and he was something else of this world entirely.

Smiling at me with that satisfied ear-to-ear grin she always gave me when I was a child, Mom closed the den doors so I could have peace and quiet.

* * *

><p>When Mom sent me to middle school after the Cell Games five years ago, not only did she do it expecting I would get the educational credits I needed for college later down the road, but she felt I needed to be socialized with people in my own age group. This, of course, went downhill. With a hybrid freak such as me –who not only had the DNA of one of the most feared creatures of the night – but was also an alien that possessed paranormal strength and abilities not of this world, trying to do "normal" never ended well.<p>

It's funny, of all the people I'd meet and befriend in this new environment, she didn't expect me to meet other werewolves. I'd always considered the Z-Warriors to be my second family; in a way, that's still true, but then I wouldn't know what to consider my pack. They were a far cry from being crowned third-best.

It seemed only fair; there were no other Saiyans in this universe other than Vegeta, Trunks, Goten, my father, and myself. So, pretty much any chance of meeting my kind in that venue flew out the window thirty-some years ago; why couldn't I have a pack of werewolf buddies to call my own?

My poor mother, though; as I grew older, she thought I was turning into a rebellious greaser when I started wearing darker clothes, leather jackets, and sparked an interest in fast, sleek cars. She really didn't know what to say when my best friend's parents gave me a muscle car for my sixteenth birthday. I remember the look on her face as if it were yesterday.

I met my two best friends, the two people I considered my brother and sister, at the private gym owned by Bulma's family at Capsule Corporation.

As a Saiyan, my training requirements were grander in scale, but when it came to leisurely workouts with my friends, this gym was just as much a safe haven as any. And since it's exclusively for martial artists and serious athletes, I didn't have to stress obsessively about keeping my strength in check.

"There he is," Vince greeted me, smiling in his casual, genuine way. His girlfriend—and my sister-figure—came jogging up to me and launched herself into my arms in a suffocating hug.

"'Bout time you got here," she kidded, looking at me with those mind-blowing green eyes under red brows.

Anyone who could say Renea wasn't beautiful would be a poor soul without any beauty within themselves. Her long, fiery red locks that held a natural wave added a vivid quality to her petite figure; her eyes didn't just pop out due to color, but with the overload of kindness and love of life that she contained within them.

Random strangers, and even my mother and Bulma, would ask me why I didn't pursue Renea because of her internal and external beauty. I would simply tell them the truth: I loved Renea as a sister, and I could only ever love her as a sister. She and Vince were perfect in my eyes; they had the comfortable, passionate, and genuine relationship so many should envy. Even I envied them sometimes, and that's saying a lot.

Renea hit the swimming pool while Vince and I stayed in the vicinity of the weight room and the sparring mats. Yes, with him being just a werewolf and I being part Saiyan, it wasn't much of a competitive match-up, but it was still fun to rough-house and practice technique without breaking someone's house rules.

"And I thought after all these years, you've learned to never ever let your guard down," Vince chuckled in my ear as he held me down in a head lock, out of reach for my arms.

"Don't need to rub it in, jackas–"

"Language, Son Gohan! You know your mother would blow an artery if she heard you talking like that." I only laughed with Vince's banter, and I eventually broke free from his grip, sending him to the ground with a swift strike of muscle.

When we stood beside each other, Vince and I were around the same height, just a couple inches past six foot; you couldn't tell we were in fact three years apart in age. Vince, the oldest of our pack, was nineteen going on twenty, and I had just turned sixteen earlier this month. The youngest in the pack and yet I was the unspoken alpha.

After about another two hours of sparring and lifting weights, Vince and I retreated over to the pool area and waited for Renea to finish.

"Hey, Gohan, the next Worlds Martial Arts Tournament is this summer, isn't it?" Renea bit into an apple as all three of us sat in the lounging chairs in the pool. Being nearly nine o' clock at night, no one was anywhere near the area; peace and quiet.

"Yep," I answered, more a verbal reminder to myself than more of a confirmation of her inquiry. "I'm sure Dad'll want to start training up for it here soon."

Since he's been back from the glorious dead, my father had gone back to his previous tradition of never missing another martial arts tournament, big or small. Then again, I'm guilty to say I've made it my tradition as well. I still had respect and honor for my father to want to follow in some of his footsteps. The only undesirable aspect about tournaments these days, though, was the press. Ever since the Cell Games, after Mr. Hercule Satan was crowned "strongest man in the universe", martial arts tournaments have become nothing but media frenzy breeding grounds, and my family and I have been caught in the middle of it for the past three years.

"Can't wait to see what colorful characters come up to compete this season," Vince sniggered, rubbing his five o' clock shadow.

I grinned, remembering quite a few of such characters from past times I've competed in local tournaments. "I know. Tournaments these days are just as much a form of shameless entertainment as they are a competition of sport and tradition," I agreed.

"Sadly, that is very true."

"Oh, Gohan, another thing," Renea mentioned, "My dad was wondering when you were going to enroll in his advanced student program; he wants to arrange a schedule so you and Vince can go through working internship and schooling over at the hospital."

I still had no sure answer. It's as if the high school knew my plans for pursuing college-level classes outside the campus, but they kept booking me with absurd classes I always end up whizzing through. Apparently, it doesn't just take brains and motivation to go far; one must accumulate as many credits as they deem reasonable before they let me go on my way.

"Gohan, looks like you got some admirers over there." Vince nodded over behind me; I turned in that direction and found a couple girls, probably my age if not a year or so older, taking fluttering glances towards me, talking amongst themselves.

With my acute hearing, their personal conversation wasn't so private; they were all things I've heard before, "That's Son Gohan, that super-freak from the Cell Games", "A cute super-freak".

They were all the same pathetic, unflattering thoughts of immature high school girls high on an estrogen rush. I've never understood women, and I probably never will; even my pack sisters leave me without a thought at times.

* * *

><p>"Gohan, let's play this one!" Goten insisted, eagerly jumping into the seat of a racing game. I chuckled.<p>

"Do you even know how to play this game?" I teased. The lil' squirt looked up at me, clueless.

"Pleeeeaaaassse?" Of course, I could never say no to Goten; not when he pulls the cute card. I slid my game card into the machine's slot and Goten was presented with two free rounds. Since the race was automatic and there were no pedals for him to reach down for, all he had to do was steer. Needless to say, it didn't work out too well; he finished in last place, two laps down. I got a little snicker out of it, especially when his enthusiasm didn't cease despite his losing streak. He took on the next round with the same result, but he had fun, so that's all that matters.

"Aw, ain't that cute. A real Hallmark moment right here." The arrogant, distasteful voice ruined my pleasant disposition. My loose hand clenched into a fist. Slowly turning around, I met the expectant, haughty face of my full-blooded Saiyan cousin.

He looked so very much like his father, Raditz, from what I remembered of him; shoulder-length hair of the exact ebony color as mine, with the same black eyes. Our family genes were very potent, so it was very easy to see we were related. Black-haired, black-eyed kids weren't very common to say the least.

"Why are you bothering us, Sid?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you? Silly me, here I thought you'd be happy to have my company," he sneered. I knew he was being sarcastic, but nonetheless, I scoffed and rolled my eyes. As if one couldn't tell by just the way we looked at each other, we weren't close to say the least. At twenty-three years old, Sid could be as immature and irritating as a fifteen-year-old when he wants to be; neither was he on the good side, necessarily. The only reason he hadn't tried to do what his father did twelve years ago is because he had my father to worry about. Now he had me watching him like a hawk as well, but I've proven he had far more reason to fear me than he did my father.

Goten simply sat in his chair and looked at the both of us; I could feel his eyes on me. He wouldn't acknowledge Sid with more than a simple glance. He wasn't part of our family, regardless of sharing the same blood. He lived on his own in exile, for he's only ever caused my family trouble.

"Run along now, Sid, I've got better things to do than look at your despicable face," I muttered.

Sid smirked, sticking his hands in his jean pockets. "Oh, I know you do, lil' coz. You gotta take your little bro out shopping, or ride your little ponies, or go squabble amongst pathetic little humans and bury your nose in their ridiculous educational books. Yeah, some life you have."

I've learned to stay indifferent towards any remark he makes, whether it be insulting my parents, my friends, or myself; he wasn't worth blowing up and wasting energy on. Goten and I were able to return to relaxing once our bastard cousin slithered away.

* * *

><p>"Oh, you fucker!" Elliot exclaimed, falling back onto the couch while Vince took all his money. My two eldest pack brothers glared and snickered at one another.<p>

"This game must hate you, man," Ian chortled, a lengthy finger guarding his stash of paper money. "Someone always robs you blind."

"Which is surprising, since his dad's a businessman. You'd think the son of a successful business owner could ace at a game of Monopoly," Jade giggled, her bright green eyes dancing with good humor. Elliot gave her the finger. This was a typical scene for my pack and I on a Saturday night. Comfortably sitting under the roof of Renea's mansion in the parlor room, and having at it with board games, video games, and other such nonsense. Each individual had their own characteristics and traits which added to the pack.

Elliot was our burly, rambunctious second-hand beta, with a loud mouth and often spoke his mind regardless of others' feelings. His blonde mate, Jasmine, was the light to his dark; she's always so calm and collected, with an underlying sense of genuine liveliness.

Ian was our laid-back comic relief of the group. He's always neutral, he could never take a side; he never lets outside drama influence his frame of mind. Our pixie-like, black-haired tomboy pack sister Jade was his perfect match. Her bubbly personality and Ian's chill, carefree outlook made them the ideal pair.

Renea, the matriarch of the group, was as hyperactive as she was wise. She liked to indulge herself every now and then, but she didn't let her privileged lifestyle affect her caring, authentic personality. Vince was not only the oldest of us, but in my opinion, he's the wisest. His wisdom and stable frame of mind would have made him a far more suitable alpha than me in that department. The only reason I am alpha was one, I have the muscle and strength to overturn anyone who challenges me; second, I have the primal drive in my blood and mind to come out on top. My mother brags about how my lineage is full of centuries of Alpha pairs on her side of the family; so it's only natural I inherited not only my father's Saiyan passion for fighting, but my wolfen ancestor's craving for dominance.

But this was how I was able to escape from all that; all the expectations, all the drama, all the troubled memories and reality that my life is a constant battle. I could both be myself yet someone else in this room with my friends. I was just Gohan; not Son Gohan the Saiyan savior of the Earth, not Son Gohan, the teenage alpha of Poaz District Mountain range. I could be normal, for once, if such a thing was at all possible.

Our blithe time together was limited, however. Vince graduated from the Post-Senior level of our school this year; Elliot would be graduating from twelfth grade and high school in general, taking Vince's place; Ian and all the girls will be seniors by the time I'm a junior. At a glance, all this would appear to mean is we simply wouldn't be in school together, but it would affect us outside school as well. Vince was already in his second year of job-shadowing and training in Don Rose's private medical practice, Ian and Elliot alike also had early careers starting. Our ability to see each other would be cut in half, if not more. Each time I'm reminded of it I want to snarl and chase it away like an intruding dog, as if the problem could go away that easily.

After having enough with sitting down, the pack and I decided to go out for a run in the mountains. Stripping down to our underwear, we went running off for the woods behind Renea's property, waiting to be shrouded by shadows to blur into our wolf forms. Our combined gait made thunderous impacts and vibrations in the earth, adding to the exhilaration of our freedom and the drumming of our heartbeats.

Entering the depths of the forest, we began to roughhouse and wrestle, biting at each other's scruffs, legs, and arms. The girls yelped playfully and partook in the fun just as heartedly and determined as us guys, landing in a good shove and a good bite. Jade leapt on my back, nipping at my ear, challenging me to buck her off. Smirking, I threw my weight around, and all she did was let out a happy yell, like a cowboy exclaiming in fun while riding a bull. In my attempts, I bumped into Elliot, who was more than eager to pay me back the favor by getting in a fang-snapping duel.

Interrupting our play, a distant shriek broke out in the sterile air of the night. My pack and I stopped in our tracks, listening. The scream wasn't from an animal, but from a human mouth. Fixated on finding the problem, I took off in the direction of the sounds, with my pack following suit in their ranks. After running for about two miles, I could catch a scent, then, delicate sounds of footfalls, leading me to plant my hands and feet in the ground. Lifting my snout into the wind, I let the each scent imprint itself in my nostrils and cataloged it with my instincts. The strongest scent I caught was tainted with human. There had to be a group of them for the scent to be this potent…

The hurried footfalls came closer, and I ordered my pack to take to the tree canopy. Climbing up the massive trees we were able to access a better vantage point. From there, we were able to catch glimpse of a small group of humans; two were mature adults, one was an adolescent that carried a child as he ran. We didn't get many campers up on Mt. Poaz, but even with the few occasional souls that visited the mountain, they wouldn't react this way in being bothered by a normal animal.

I saw my answer in large, massive shapes behind the family, chasing and tailing them with lazy amusement that indicated to me that they weren't hunting these humans for the kill; this was an unhealthy game of werewolf-and-human tag.

My ears folded back and I snarled, leaping from tree to tree, bringing me closer to the delinquent wolves until I was able to jump on top of the leader, taking him to the ground with severe strength. There was a screeching yip from under me, and I let the wolf up, able to see he was no older than I was—perhaps a year younger. Observing the faces of his pack, I recognized them. They belonged to the wealthier end of the loup-garou society here, who attended a private school exclusively for werewolves. They were the kind who believed they were the superior of our community, and in their books, if any werewolf didn't indulge in their private schools and commingled with humans, they affectionately call them runts and mutts.

I bore my fang at the juvenile wolf before me, who was nothing but arrogant sneers. To wolves like him, humans were their playthings and prey; they merited no respect or privilege in the grand scheme of things. They didn't respect me, either, for I was a wolf who guarded mankind, rather than hunt or spite them.

_You're trespassing, _I growled, my hackles rising. I could feel Vince, Elliot, and Ian behind me, while the girls extended along the flanks of the pack's path.

_You have no control over us. _The younger wolf leered at me, snapping his inadequate jaws toward me. It almost made me laugh; I was nearly twice his size in height and mass.

_You've been gentle with them long enough, _the distant voice in my head declared. With it, a hot current rose within me, eliminating my calm tolerance.

I returned the gesture, only far more aggressive and convincing, opening my jaws wide to display my large fangs and teeth, and my willing ability to use them. The trespasser lept from the path of my teeth the first time, but I quickly shifted my direction and locked my mouth around his scruff, pinning him to the ground. I could hear my pack keeping the other wolves from jumping me, granting me all the time I desired to teach the little deviant a good lesson.

_This is my territory, you little bastard. But if I can't earn your respect through courtesy, then I'll just have to make you respect me through fear. _I threw the wolf yards away, so light he might as well have been a cotton ball. Even once he hit the ground, I charged for him again, sinking my teeth into his waist, his neck, and limbs; he barely managed to get one claw or fang on me. Upon hearing snarls outside of my own bubble, I pinned my opponent beneath me to catch a look as to what was going on. Vince and Elliot were locked in their own heated fights between the two betas of the other pack; Renea and Jade bore their teeth at the two females, keeping them from escaping or joining in the fight.

Confident in my pack's ability to take care of themselves, I returned my attention to the pathetic coward underneath me, exchanging unearthly snarls and wicked barks of threatening gestures. After tearing the wolf-boy up for a good five minutes, I locked my jaws around his throat, applying steady pressure to his windpipe just enough to obscure his trachea and make breathing difficult.

My bluff was successful. Wheezing, he began to panic, thrashing against me. With a long, squealing series of whines and yowls, he announced his surrender and I released him. But I wasn't finished with my warning; I stood fast, caging him beneath me, and I brought my snarling mouth to his face, snorting.

_This is the last warning. If you're sad enough to only get your amusement out of scaring humans, do it on your own damned land and risk exposing your own family. Stay out of my territory, never come anywhere near here again._

With that, my pack and I allowed the younger posse of wolves to limp away, back down south of the mountain while we returned north to Renea's house, where we sat patiently for the terrified human family to find refuge. It wasn't long at all before there was a knock on the door, and the soft, trustworthy Don Rose answered. Being a doctor, he took the liberty of checking each family member for wounds, but they were untouched. Feigning surprise and coyness to their tale of being chased by giant animals, he offered them a room to stay in for the night. Although still wary, the mother and father agreed to stay in the kind doctor's mansion rather than chance it by returning to their campsite.

Vicki Rose fixed a little wholesome snack for the family, and brewed fresh coffee and hot cocoa. By the time I left, the human family, unaware they were staying in a house full of werewolves, were smiling and engaging in casual conversation with Don and Vicki, while Renea and Vince both occupied the children with board games.

Driving the long road up to Mt. Poaz, I managed to reach home just before ten o' clock; this left me enough time to take one last quick run before turning in. Goten begged me to let him come, but only being four years old, the little tyke couldn't change into wolf form on his own yet. Besides, it was way past his bedtime for Mom to even consider letting him hang with me for a late-night run.

After lingering in the city all day, the crisp and clean mountain air was a heavenly relief to my lungs and senses. The air was cooler than lukewarm, but still and unmoving. Regardless, goose-bumps rose on my pale skin with the excitement and exhilaration of being free. Everything was so quiet, open, and natural. Even the neighbors a couple miles down were almost ghosts because it's as if they weren't even there at all.

Jogging for the forest 'til I was just in the trees, I went to my accustomed spot for changing and stood there. A deep breath was followed by a swift jerk and crack in my spine. I uttered a dry groan, something which would be mistaken by the human ear as a cry of pain. But on the contrary, it was a very good kind of pain; it was the only kind of pain I relished and looked forward to.  
>I laughed a near-breathless cackle as my knees buckled; my tongue rolling over my canines as they extended and grew to fangs, the change continued. My muscles constricted around my bones to the point it felt I was going to be suffocated by my own body; it's something I've always expected, but the claustrophobic and strangely orgasmic feeling of it never ceased to thrill me.<p>

My worm-like tail extended out through my back, replacing the scar my Saiyan tail had left so many years ago when removed. My black wolf pelt began to prick and grow, covering my morphing body with the soft undercoat, then the dense, coarser top coat that especially thickened around areas such as the throat, back, and groin for protection.

With a satisfied sigh, I rose from my hunched sitting position and stood tall in the moonlight. We werewolves didn't just change into big wolves, no; no, we were far grander than that. Possessing anthropomorphic qualities, anatomy consisted of both human and wolf attributes; human torso, arms, hands, and legs down to the calf. The wolfish features consisted of abnormally long ears which curved inward, a wolf face with a blunt muzzle and full humanistic facial expression, and from the calf down, connected by a large hock joint were my exaggerated wolfen feet; paws, basically. A fully-furred, long tail topped it all off.

I was proud to be a werewolf; I was proud to be a Saiyan. I was proud to be what I was, though it wasn't always easy. I've had to wear a mask whenever I'm around other people, make up little white lies about my life; from what I do in my spare time to how I got these scars on my body. It was a constant charade, but the unhinged freedom and glee I felt from shedding my human skin for my wolf pelt made all that human turmoil fade away.

Throwing my head back to bay my hollow song, I told the Night to be ready for me, and asked Lady Luna to be the guiding light to keep my family safe while I was gone. I treaded off into the night, unsure of what adventures would await me in the morning.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I can't believe this was the best I could come up with to introduce Gohan—Son Gohan, my favorite character in all of DBZ… Oy. No strokes of brilliance here :/It may not be too epic, but I think it really sets up the character that he is.  
><strong>

**Yes, if you didn't catch it in the summary, Gohan is also half werewolf, like my OC. Don't ask me why I made him (or my OC, for that matter) werewolves, because it's just always been this way since I first created the fic in 2007, even though in this newer draft, the whole premise of werewolves isn't very potent. **

**Oh, and sorry for the little time-shift thing (my OC's first chapter started off in April, here we jumped back in January for Gohan). Why didn't I just put this as the first chapter and then bring in my OC for chapters 2 and 3? I don't know. I just felt it ran smoother after the prologue to have her narrative be the first chapter as opposed to Gohan's. **

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

**Friend/Follow me on Facebook **

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	5. 4: Shattered

**4. Shattered**

**April**

**_Jordane_**

The day Paul shipped off to the Middle East was the day everything in my life officially went to hell.

The goodbye itself was hard enough; I was surrounded by emotional family members, from my stoic and proud Uncle Dan, Paul's averse sisters, and my mother, who might as well had been saying farewell to her son—which, in being her first-born nephew, Paul was practically just that. I'd lost count how many times I hugged him, his clean-pressed blue dress coat ponging of his cologne. I took in as much as I could, for who knew how long it would be until I could do this again.

After reminding me that I would be fine, Paul whispered confidently in my ear, "Be brave", the two-worded family motto lingering in my head even long after the ship sailed away from the docks.

The owners of Angel and Goldie, the Ronan family, decided to sue me and my mother for what I did to Tiffany. To prevent us from having to endure even one courtroom visit, my mother agreed to pay the amount the Ronans asked for, which robbed us of our living money, to say the least.

So in the past three weeks, my mother had been working double shifts at the diner, and I decided to work a few shifts for the first time as a paid employee. If this were twenty years ago, we'd easily replenish our lost finances; unfortunately, with all the new restaurants and business going in around the area, we weren't going to get anywhere fast with three and five dollar tips along with a one-hundred-some monthly paycheck. Even with the both of us working full time, and the occasional ten and fifteen dollar tip from a couple loyal customers, it would be barely enough.

How much did the Ronans ask for? How does three-thousand dollars sound? Originally, they were suing for twelve-hundred, for the measly medical bills, pain and suffering, and replacement of Tiffany's new clothes. But I didn't have any defense whatsoever other than being sprung with words of provocation from an air-headed, spoiled teenage girl. Defenses like "She told me I deserved to have my horse dead" don't stand up well in assault cases. Not only was it just common sense, but I watch enough _Judge Judy_ and _Law and Order_ to have a general understanding of the law. So, to prevent a trial for assault and possible time in the juvie slammer for me, my mother agreed to pay any extra amount they wanted if they'd drop the assault charge.

A part of me was sorry for the whole situation—I was sorry for causing my mother stress she certainly didn't need. I was not sorry, however, for beating Tiffany. I should have felt some degree of remorse or regret—any normal person would—but I felt nothing of the sort. In fact, all I felt was pride. Of course, I didn't let my mother catch any wind of this; I was well able in hiding it.

I couldn't, however, keep my pride on the down-low from my friends, who were my only outlet at the point. Sara and Ashlyn praised me for putting Tiffany in her place. To my shock, Amanda—the only other person close to the whole situation—was disconcerted by my outburst of violence. I believe the words she said were, "I don't like her, either, but I don't think that was the best way to handle it. I mean, you could have killed her…no one deserves that, not even her."

She asked if I would have killed Tiffany if I wasn't interrupted by those in the school's environment. I couldn't answer. I honestly didn't think I'd have it in me to kill anyone, no matter how much I despised them…and yet, I knew I should have known better than to underestimate my basic instincts…on both sides of the genetic coin.

As if I didn't have enough of a load on my shoulders without the guilt of putting my mother and I in the poor-house, juggling school and working at the diner full-time took its toll on me—mentally. I wasn't allowed to draw, write, train, or do any of the activities that ensured a content state of mind, so I did them at night, often not getting one wink of sleep for days in a row.

_And here we go again_, I moaned tiredly, skipping homework to take a nap before heading off to the diner with Mom. But since my mother took longer to get ready than me, I thought I'd use the spare time to pop by Amanda's and see how she was doing. I hadn't talked to her in days outside of school.

The driveway was empty as it always was on a late weekday afternoon, the curtains closed except for those in the window to Amanda's room. Since no one was home, though, I'd go to the front door like a civilized individual. Giving my three typical knocks on the old wooden door, I patiently waited for what felt longer than usual for an answer. Was she taking a nap?

I rang the doorbell; it took a few more moments, but I heard someone's hurried footsteps come up to the door and unlock it. Even through the screen door, I could see Amanda's face was a little red. "Hi," she said shakily. "What's up?"

"Not much, just thought I'd stop by and say hey before I went off to work. What are you up to?" I was tense when she hadn't let me in the house by then; she continued to stand at the door, arms loosely crossed and fingers curled around the hems of her hoodie sleeves.

"Not much, either; just being bored." She looked more than "bored" to me; her red face was a tall-tell sign she'd been crying.

"You all right?" This wasn't a polite inquiry; I knew for her to be crying while home by herself something must be the matter. "Are the bunnies okay?"

"Oh yeah, they're fine."

After standing there for a few more minutes, I began to smell the undeniable stench of blood. Very light, but it was still there. "Why are you wearing a hoodie? It's boiling in your house," I said, feeling the heat escape out of the house and blow into my face.

"You know me, I take a while to get warm."

"Even after being home from school for an hour and a half?" She was hiding something, I could see it now. There was an anxious tint to her bright brown eyes in addition to being swollen and overly moisturized. "Let me see your arms," I demanded, stern but trying to be compassionate. I was afraid of what I might see, but I had to know just what she was doing before I left for work.

Knowing I wouldn't leave until I got what I demanded, Amanda's shoulders slouched, her fine brows furrowing into a defeated arch. Unzipping her hoodie, she carefully slid it off 'til I could see the fresh, tiny marks on her arms from the elbow down. They weren't deep, but their presence there was disturbing, nonetheless. Taking a profound, steady breath, I glared down at the marks on her arms as if I could make them disappear if I scowled at them long enough.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I whispered, almost a hiss. Amanda grimaced shamefully.

"I don't know… I-I guess it's like you with your fighting."

"What? Don't you compare this to what I do!"

"What's the difference?" Amanda retorted, her voice stronger now. "Whether I cut myself or you go fight other werewolves and get yourself beat up, what difference is there? You're purposely putting yourself through physical pain to cope with things, just like this."

I couldn't find anything to counter her declaration. Sighing, I ran my hand through my combed hair, staring down at the ground. Leaving for work seemed like a horrible idea now; I did not feel comfortable whatsoever leaving Amanda home alone for another two hours to continue drowning herself in whatever thoughts she could find as reason to resort to such an action.

I went to my mother as she was heading for the car and told her I couldn't go to work with her at the diner because Amanda was in emotional distress; I didn't disclose in detail what I discovered and thankfully I didn't have to. Mom instead accepted the excuse and went off on her way. As for me, I was going to spend my evening with Amanda in her room; no computers, no TV, no sketchbooks. We were just going to sit and talk, as long as needed.

* * *

><p><em>Thank God it's Friday… <em>Somehow, the thought of the weekend brought little comfort. I was hardly content or calm enough to relax. That's why I knew a leisurely trip to the diner was in demand.

Tacking Lizzie up with her harness and leash, I headed out for a jog around town –my favorite thing to do on Friday afternoons. Lizzie was my favorite jogging partner; she offered me adequate company without any need for conversation.

The sun was shining a bright yellow-orange, but the lingering winter breeze balanced the temperature perfectly. My skin sang as I felt the cold wind be absorbed by the pores on my face, arms, collar and legs. I didn't have to worry about Lizzie getting overheated, either, which was the greatest benefit.

Jogging two miles, we reached our destination: my family's restaurant, Welch's Diner and Steak House. It had been in my family since my mother was in her late teens and as it was to every other member of my family, it's always been a second home to me.

"Hey, Jordane!" Chuck, one of our long-time cooks, bellowed in greeting to me as Lizzie and I rounded the corner around back. I waved and smiled back as I crossed the diner's employee entrance, walking through the kitchen and utility area. Every other busboy and cook greeted me as they saw me.

I greeted the waitresses I knew best with hugs and smiles; everybody there was like my second family. If they've been working for my grandparents for the past twenty years, then not only did they know my family well, but they've known me since I was only days old.

Some customers watched as I walked in with Lizzie to my favorite table, the two-seater booth by the waitress aisle in the back of the east dining room; right by the grand brick fireplace, below the shelves of bronze and rusty antiques, and right by my favorite painting. It was of the red and yellow sunset on what I believed was Canyon Beach.

Lizzie leisurely lied down underneath the table, sitting still and chill as waitresses and customers came and went. Various customers would stare and speculate how I was able to bring a dog in when I was clearly not disabled in any way, but such was one of the many awesome benefits of being the owners' granddaughter. Many of our regular customers found Lizzie to be a joy and would often come over from their seats just to pet her.

After scarfing down a refreshing salad, my waitress Lesley brought me the grilled-cheese sandwich I ordered.

"Lesley, where's my grandpa today? Has he been in the office?"

Lesley's aging face eased into a frown. "Actually, no, he's been sitting with these two women; I don't know, I've never seen them before. It's odd your grandpa is talking to them instead of your uncle, if they're here looking for jobs."

That _was_ strange. My mom or Uncle Dan were the ones who dealt with hiring new people. My grandfather's role in the diner was just to overlook the business' finances and employees, all from his office.

"He's sitting in the corner booth on the other side of the restaurant, if you want to go see him," Lesley hinted before hurrying along to serve other customers in her station. Scarfing my lunch down to replenish my body with the carbs it needed, I took Lizzie by her harness and made for the front of the restaurant in order to get to the other dining room.

We weren't too busy in the afternoons, so some tables could be reserved for official meetings, and I knew what table my grandfather liked to sit at for these meetings; the corner booth just off of the lobby. I saw his aged face amongst two younger women who looked to be in their early thirties, perhaps. They were talking business; I could tell by the look on my grandfather's face. What was surprising was how this was appearing to be happening behind my Uncle's back; he was as much a co-owner as my mother was, and I'd figure he'd be present for any meeting of dire importance.

_It must not be too important, then._

I casually strolled up, putting a hand on my grandfather's shoulder before he noticed me. He turned around and smiled but I was too busy studying the faces of the two strangers at the table with him.

"Sweetheart, there you are."

"As I am every Friday," I reminded him as he leaned over to pet Lizzie.

"This is Angie and Harriet Lewis," Grandpa said. They both smiled at me and I returned a small, slight one only out of timid courtesy.

"So you're Jordane," the blonde woman said in a tone that struck me the wrong way; it was a contrived, fake statement of friendliness. "Your grandpa's told us so much about you in a lot of our past meetings. He tells us how you're the princess of the diner."

The fond words my grandfather had shared with them didn't shake me off. "They here to be hired?" I asked Grandpa in a cold, business-like tone, unable to help myself. He chuckled.

"No, sweetheart. Angie and Harriet are here to see what profits can be made with the diner." There was a solemn fact to his tone; a tone I knew very well meant business.

"What do you mean? Why would they want to know?"

"Well, honey, you see, your grandpa has gotten into some financial troubles and is looking for some help to alleviate those debts," the one I believe to be Angie informed me. I raised a brow.

"All right," I drawled. Angie and her sister both looked at my grandfather.

"You haven't told her," Angie stated to my grandfather, more a presumption than a question.

"Told me what?" I pushed, a half growl. I felt Grandpa's hand pat my own hand as it rested against the seat.

"Sweetheart, I have to sell the diner, and these young ladies here are willing to buy it for a very good price."

I didn't hear anything else he said other than, "Sell" and "Diner". "What?" I peeped, my mouth barely moving.

"It's been coming for a while now," Grandpa told me in a melancholy voice.

"No. No, you don't have to sell," I urged to him. He smiled at me, a sad smile.

"We have no choice, sweetheart. I'm too far in debt."

I took a swift look at Angie and Harriet again; they were dressed in button blouses and work suits, their faces heavy with chalky foundation and artificially high-lighted hair. They did not look like they've worked a day of their lives in the restaurant business.

"Have they ever owned a restaurant before?" I asked; it must have come out too fast, for everybody at the table hesitated thoughtfully at first.

"No, we haven't," Angie answered for my grandfather.

"Have you ever even worked in a restaurant?"

"No."

I was fuming. Of all the people to sell our family fortunes to, these two bimbos had to be the ones?

"Grandpa, we're not selling the diner to them."

Grandpa sighed. "I have to."

"B-but what about our family? How is everybody going to earn a living?" I didn't recognize my own voice; my body was shaking just as much as my words were.

"Everybody will still have their jobs, if they choose to keep them," Angie explained. I knew a lot of our current employees who've been with us since the early days would quit, if they could afford it. Everyone respected my grandparents too much; they made the working environment functional and simple.

"You could even still work here; it'll just be for us," Angie then added with a smile.

"I don't think so," I mumbled, staring off into the wallpaper.

"Listen, honey, I know this has come as a bit of a shock, but it isn't the end of everything. You and your family would still be more than welcome to come, dine for a discounted price and everything. But I'm afraid you just wouldn't be able to bring your dog in anymore, though." Angie glanced at Lizzie and with one look, I could tell she wasn't much of a dog person.

"Listen," I then said, in a similar tone as she had spoken, only far heavier with sarcasm, "First, _don't_ call me 'honey'," I spat venomously. "Second, this is my family's restaurant. I refuse to come into my own house and live by someone else's rules. The special touch that's been keeping this place booming for thirty years is something only my family can bring; it takes balls to run a business like this, and you don't got 'em."

With that, I turned away from their appalled faces and stormed off for the back of the restaurant where my grandfather's office was. I sat outside the locked door and waited for him in the long and lonely hallway.

* * *

><p>"I blew up like that because those ignorant bitches deserve to hear the reality! Grandpa, if they take over this place, they're going to run it into the ground! All of our family's hard work –all your hard work –will have gone to waste!"<p>

"I understand you're upset," Grandpa began with that soft voice of his, "but you don't understand the debt I'm in. Yes, we've had this place for a lot of years, but it's time to move on, otherwise it'll sink us and we'll never be able to resurface."

I stood there, resisting the urge to kick the wall again. "But this is our home," I mumbled, on the verge of tears.

"I know. I know. But these girls have offered to pay me a very good price, a price most serious businessmen wouldn't even think of paying."

I was about to open my mouth to protest some more, but I'd already spent the past half-hour talking in circles trying to get to a point, and Grandpa's just given me the same naïve excuses and reasons.

"Does anyone know?" I asked. Someone had to have known; Mom, Dan, Grandma. Somebody. My eyes widened when my grandfather shook his head.

"It's been something I've dealt with by myself. Your grandma knows I have intentions on selling the restaurant, but no one else knows. As Angie said, everyone working here can keep their jobs, so no one in our family has to become job-less. We should be thankful for that. And as Angie mentioned, you can still work here as well."

"Absolutely not," I snarled, fangs bared. "I will not work for a couple air-headed bimbos like them who don't know shit about running a restaurant!"

"You don't know that, no need for that language," Grandpa scolded softly. His face and voice alike were even, unchanged, and calm. He was perhaps the only human being on this earth who exhibited or felt no fear towards my animalistic temper and tendencies.

"It won't be our diner anymore, Grandpa. I can't imagine working in a place I've had free range all my life to suddenly be stripped down by the rules of someone else. I don't need anybody telling me how to play in my own field."

Grandpa's tired hazel eyes stared down at his desk. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I'm sorry, too."

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for the sisters to take control; a week was all it took and they were the new owners. Just like that. My Uncle Dan was so furious, he hadn't shown up for work; in the middle of the week he handed in his two-week notice to the new "bosses" and never came back. The movement upset my grandmother, even more so when we couldn't get a hold of him for days afterward.<p>

I didn't have any leisurely visits to the diner after Angie and Harriet took charge; I was there every other day, hovering, watching as conditions in the diner went from bad to worse. Dinner was our busiest time of the night and from day one, Harriet, who took on the role of manager, was flustered as customers came pouring in.

First, Angie was the idiot to relieve half our staff of their usual schedule during the dinner shift, which was insanity; but apparently, she felt having so many employees working the same shift was unnecessary and too expensive.

We were understaffed, over-booked, and failing. Harriet juggled seating people, helping those at the front desk, and serving drinks to customers whose waitresses were overwhelmed due to the lack of staff. Our cooks became flustered and were being rushed by Angie so much, food often went out undercooked, overcooked, wrong orders; pretty much anything that could go wrong with a restaurant did go wrong.

After a while, it just became too unbearable to watch. That one dinner service where I walked out the door was the night I vowed to never step foot in that diner again.

"I can't fucking take it there anymore," Mom seethed as she walked in the door, tossing her purse on the couch. I glanced up from my sketchbook to look at her. She truly looked pissed; her face was red, her eyes wet and flaring with anger.

"I don't wanna know," I sighed. I'd already seen enough proof of Angie and Harriet's poor leadership; I didn't need to hear any more agonizing details. There was something more in my mother's face I couldn't ignore.

"You taking the rest of the day off?" She had another shift at four o' clock; she usually came home for the two hours before then.

"Yes, and the day after and the day after," Mom groaned, getting a soda from the kitchen. I got up from the couch and followed her, sitting at the counter.

"Are you sure you won't get fired for that?"

"I quit."

"Oh." I suppose I was surprised my mom managed to last two weeks there as it was, but I would have expected her to have a new job already before she quit.

She must have read my mind. "I'm going to look on the computer tonight for jobs. Maybe you should consider doing the same, in case I can only get a minimum wage job." She looked at me with those sharp brows and I could only nod.

I didn't have much luck finding anything. I knew I couldn't be picky, but I refused to work in a fast-food restaurant, and those were the only places that would take a sixteen-year-old teenager who was still a sophomore in high-school.

Mom, thankfully, went in for a job interview at a real estate company early one morning. She used to work in real estate a few years ago, but sales were so low, she had to quit. It wasn't worth the extra hours along with working at the diner.

The afternoon Mom came walking in the house with a somber, thoughtful look on her face, I thought I was going to hear bad news.

"Well, I got the job," she sighed, sitting down on the couch beside Lizzie.

"That's great, right?" I couldn't get why she was so serious about it. I tightened my fists in my jeans pockets for the answer she was about to give, but nothing could have prepared me for what it turned out to be.

"We have to move."

I pursed my lips. "What?"

Sighing again, Mom ran her hands through her ear-length hair. "The market has been doing so poorly over here that the branch in Washington is going out of business. But they said they like my numbers when I was working back at Sound Realty, so they informed me another branch of their company needed more employees. Its numbers in sales are very high and consistent, and the wage is real good. I could be making twice the amount I did back when I was working at Sound, and my wages would be guaranteed every month, not just dependent on commissions."

I'd heard the company's name, Horizon Realty; it was one of the biggest independent international real estate companies in the world. "Okay." I couldn't think of anything else to say; the fact we had to move was harsh enough for me to fathom. I loved it here; I grew up here. I didn't want to move.

"So, where is this other branch? Is it in Oregon?" I automatically assumed it was in the state across the Columbia River, because I knew Mom would never go for a job exceeding those boundaries.

Or so I thought.

"It's in an American establishment district in Tokyo, Japan." I could feel her expectant gaze on me, waiting for my reaction. I was waiting for it, too.

"That can't be."

"I'm afraid it is."

I shook my head, the reality finally sinking into my skin. I bit my tongue to hold in the tears of frustration and fear. "No, no, we can't. Moving to another neighborhood or town is hard enough, but across the goddamn globe?! No!"

"Japan is just a quick flight across the Pacific; it isn't 'across the globe'; it's closer than you think."

"I don't care! We've lived here our whole lives; all my friends are here, all our family is here, we can't just move a whole other continent away! Besides, we have no money to make that kind of move—!"

Mom shot up faster than I could blink. "You don't think I've gone through all this in my head, Jordane? There's a reason I put off taking this interview so I could continue looking for other jobs; but no other place will hire me! This is the only option we have; I'm eligible to take a loan out, on behalf of Horizon Realty, so it'll get us to where we need to go, but I refuse to stay here if it means living off unemployment and asking your grandparents for money every week!"

I bit my cheek harder, contorting my mouth; trying to keep myself occupied with something else other than my need to cry –trying to keep my mind off of how fast my world was falling apart.

* * *

><p>One week before the big move, I'd begun to lose my sanity with the reality of it all. I accidentally broke and shattered three bowls, one plate, and four glasses while packing before Mom brushed me aside and did it herself. I didn't even want to wake up one morning because I knew I'd have to keep saying goodbye to everything I knew.<p>

In a hasty instant of frustrated depression, I considered asking my grandparents if I could live with them. Calming down, however, I realized how unrealistic the idea was. My grandparents would let me stay, but the thought of letting my mother travel across the world without me left a rather unsettling feeling in my stomach. She may be a tough bird, but neither of us did well without the other. I was my mother's somber and silent guardian as much as she was mine. So living in separate locations was not an option.

My last day of school was filled with solemn agony. My friends were the only ones who were affected by the news, of course; every other individual went about their lives as if the other hundreds of students weren't even walking the same halls –as if I wasn't walking the halls with them. Would anyone notice I'm gone? Probably not. Even those who recognized me as the freak with the anti-social temperament? Certainly not. The classmates who actually looked past my hard outer shell and enjoy engaging in small-talk with me during class? Maybe.

So often, I pondered about life, how it's like a game of chess, and we're all just small chess pieces, waiting to be moved in one direction or the next. Our very existence was something as insignificant as it was grand.

By the time fourth period rolled around, I figured I should take advantage of my bad mood. Sitting behind Glen in the back of the class, I scribbled down on a note something of a mix between a dare and an invitation.

_This'll be my last week in Washington, and I'm not going to go out quietly. If you don't have any plans tonight, come down to Secret Ferns Park by my house at ten o' clock. I need to smack somebody around and it might as well be you. What do you say? One more brawl for old time's sake? Don't disappoint me now; I'd hate to think after all this time, you've lost your balls for beating up girls._

When the teacher wasn't looking, I leaned forward and delivered a single tap to Glen's shoulder, placing the folded note there. Immediately, his head turned and he grabbed the note, but he didn't look at me. He didn't need to.

Half a minute passed before his arm extended back and gave me back the note. My table partner didn't seem to react to it much, though I could see he was curious; he didn't know me very well, but we worked together enough for him to know I hated Glen.

Waiting until our teacher was done adjusting the VHS tape we were watching on the TV, I unfolded the note and read effortlessly in the dimly-lit class.

_Sweet-cheeks, I thought you'd never ask. It'd be stupid of me not to take up your offer. I'll be there._

My mood towards my "date" didn't go unnoticed by all. Amanda asked me twice on the bus if I was okay. Of course, I wouldn't tell her; while I could tell she appreciated my tough, take-no-shit-from-anybody demeanor, she didn't understand why I turned to violence so often, or at all.

By nine-thirty, Mom had turned in to bed, determined to finish packing all our things so we could get them shipped over to our new house in Japan. So by ten, she was sound asleep and I had no trouble sneaking down the stairs.

It was a ten-minute walk to the park at the end of my suburban neighborhood; the whole park itself was about five acres, and was fully treed, so any sound was muffled and it blocked visibility to any surrounding houses. Dressed in nothing but a sports bra and spandex shorts –my typical attire for turning nights – I stepped into the depths of the inclined park. To any human's eyes, it would be pitch black, in spite of the distant porch and street lights. It was dark to my eyes, but not so terrible to where I couldn't see; outlines of every tree and every inch of the playground were very discernible to me.

As I stood there, waiting for my company to arrive, I took in the night. The breeze had an unkind iciness to it, stirring the slight hairs on my body. I couldn't see the crescent moon through the thick canopy, despite the exceptionally clear sky.

Contrary to popular belief and mythical glamour, werewolves could shape-shift whenever we desired; it didn't matter if the moon was even the slightest sliver, we still could change. But don't expect me to give a lesson on shape-shifting; I didn't know everything about being a werewolf, and I sure as hell didn't know everything about being a Saiyan.

A twig snapped and I immediately swerved to find the face of my long-time opponent. Glen, shirtless and flaunting his football-player's physique, with that smug look on his face that always made me want to spit.

Another silhouette amongst the trees made me spin. His buddy, Spencer, casually came strolling out from behind a large evergreen tree, eyes gold and lively and thirsting for a fight. Then I saw another figure; then another, until five guys who made up Glen's pack stood around me in a large circle, cutting off any escape route possible from the park.

The warrior wolf within me growled in relish at the challenge; the meek human girl who remembered what it was like to brawl with numbers recoiled in worry. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

"I thought I'd invite some friends," Glen said, looking around at his buddies. "Since, as you said, it's your last week here, and I wanted to make this going-away party one to remember."

I quickly brought the change to my spine, ready in a split second to explode into my wolf skin.

It wasn't the farewell party I was expecting. Everything happened in a maddening blur; one second I was in my wolf form, twisting and turning in a sea of flying fur, snarls, blood and teeth; the next I was back in human form, my fists driving into human ribs and jaws. It went back and forth like this for a half-hour, it felt. I was getting tired; my legs burned, my throat was dry, and the scratches on my skin stung.

I did a number on the boys, though, too; Glen was covered in scratches and bruises and bite marks, as he was the center of my anger and inflictions. But whether or not I did a good number on him and his buddies didn't matter, because there was only one of me and six of them.

Now, the she-wolf within me was weakening, tail tucking between my legs and wanting to just give up and go home. But I couldn't; I wouldn't be defeated on my last stand.

"Honey, you look tired," Glen mused, his wolf's grin wide and white, blood-stained.

I let my guard down for one breath and next I knew I was thrown down on the ground. When my vision cleared, I could see Spencer, Glen's beta wolf, holding me down with his two large wolf hands. I was weakened even in human form and he was still kicking as a ten-foot-tall werewolf.

I was screwed.

Chagrin for my bruised pride was replaced by panic when I saw Glen hovering above me, with a sick grin on his face that was unsettlingly new.

I must have been careless and let the fear show on my face, because he grinned even wider and started laughing. "Let's make your last night here really memorable, what do ya say, Teague?" He leaned down for me, his clawed hand grasping my thigh like a vise, claws digging into my pale flesh.

"Get the hell off me!" I shrieked, giving a good kick to Glen's stomach, sending him flying a couple feet away. I'd hoped to get a little lower so I could hit below him below the belt, but I didn't get that lucky. I gasped when suddenly his hand clasped around my throat.

"Beating you to a pulp just isn't enough these days… I'm going to take you like the little bitch you are, and you aren't going to get lucky this time," he snarled in my ear, his putrid breath hot and harsh in my ear.

I scrambled through my head for any ideas on how to get myself out of this mess and the only thing I could come up would buy me only a very, very short window. But it was better than nothing.

I latched my claws into Spencer's wrists, the quick movement so sudden and painful he immediately loosened his grip with a yelp; the release was enough for me to thrust my hands forward out of his grasp and my claws blindly went right for Glen's face. Hearing his yells and yelps, I knew I had succeeded; only for so long, though, did the little victory last.

One of Glen's pack members grabbed me by the waist and chucked me to the cement walkway of the park, the impact so harsh and sudden, it knocked the breath out of my lungs and my heart skipped irregularly. Black dots scoured over my vision, but I could see Glen's silhouette above me again. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move; I couldn't bring the change to my body.

_Fight, _a voice ordered. It was startling, until I realized it had come from within myself—my body, my mind…my very spirit, if it was possible. _Fight! _the voice barked again, resonating throughout my body as a surge of power, from my core to the tips of my fingers; like a pulse. _Fight! _My clenched fist I never realized was formed had lashed out and decked Glen right under his eye, sending him flying.

_Get up and fight! _I kicked someone else with my leg, then another, until all of my enemies lay face-first in the ground. The internal pulse of power throbbed inside me still, growing stronger. _Fight! _

Everything looked brighter. My senses were on spastic alert; my body felt as though I'd been pumped full of pure adrenaline, and in my mind, I was operating on the sheer force of iron will.

I didn't let up. Lunging for Glen, I pounded his flesh with my fists, tore at his flesh with my claws and fangs, not giving him a chance to regain his bearings. I wanted—needed—to be ruthless.

To my shock, none of his friends jumped in to rescue him.

By the time I tired of the repetitive rhythm of punches, my hands were painted bright red, my claws dripping. Below me, Glen laid a gory mess, wheezing labored breaths out of his mouth. When I raised my eyes to the others, they stood petrified before me.

"Anyone else want more?" I offered, my voice deathly even. None of them answered.

My blood sang in exhilarated currents through my veins, high on victory, but my logic advised me to leave while I still had the chance. The sense of terrifying helplessness from before was still very fresh in my mind.

One step, then another, and I was leaving the park at an eager jog. I didn't stop until I was around the corner from my house. All the lights were out, save for the porch lamp. Sneaking to the backyard and climbing up to my window was easy enough. Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one awake at such an hour.

"Jordane?" My name emitted in a quiet hiss from Amanda, who peeked out her open window. She could see me clearly from her bedroom. "What are you doing?"

I couldn't answer her; it's as if my mouth wasn't even registering to my brain as a function.

"You went out and fought again, didn't you?" Disappointment, disapproval…those were emotions that she didn't show very often. She disappeared from her window, but came sneaking out the patio door the next second, meeting me at the fence separating our two properties.

"It was just Glen and his buffoons," I finally spoke.

"Just Glen and his buffoons?" Amanda repeated, looking my beaten body over with concern. "Aren't you in any pain?"

There was no hesitation before I answered with a snort of amusement, "No. At least, not yet."

The way she continued to gawk at me with an underlying hue of displeasure, I grew irritated. It was the same scolding look my mother often gave me, back when I didn't make any effort to hide my extra-curricular activities from her.

"You actually like it, don't you?"

"To a degree," I replied.

"To a degree? It seems to me you like it, period, not to a certain degree. Otherwise, you would have found a way to make those small reasons not to like it and use it to help keep yourself from getting into these situations—"

"Do you entirely like cutting? Why don't you use the small portion of despair you feel whenever you cut to try and prevent yourself from doing it?" Before I even realized what I'd said, the words had already stung, catching her off-guard. I sought to find a neutral way to end the conversation. "It's as you said; they are similar—we are similar in how we deal with our issues."

It seemed as though that would have been the end of it. I hoped it was. But as I turned back for my house—

"Why do you do this?"

Her question made me stop in my tracks. There was a plight in her voice, as if she'd been yearning to ask me this for a long while, but just never knew how or when to bring it up. As to whether she was in a position to understand, or just take it with an empathetic nod, that would come to pass in the future.

I dug to find the most honest, accurate answer I could give. "Because of everything that happens in my life, a brawl is probably the only thing I have any control over. Everything about mundane living—the rules, the masquerade—it all keeps me confined, restricted. Fighting allows me to be wild, unrestrained and free." I sighed, contemplating. "At times, I can't help but feel as though fighting—and winning—is my only purpose, because everything else just feels so…forced."

"You have other purposes," she amended. "Your friends; we need you just as we need each other. You always look out for each of us, even when you're full of your own problems. You're the voice of reason to a lot of us."

I scoffed. "The voice of reason to everyone but myself."

* * *

><p>"Damn. We're going to miss you," Sara moaned, resting her head on my shoulder. I let my head plop against hers in fondness. The inconsistent Sunday traffic from the street echoed in the walls of her garage, disturbing any sense of peace I'd hope to have on my last day with my friends, amongst all our band equipment.<p>

Well, almost all of my friends; Amanda elected to stay home.

"Mhm. These are my last two days in Washington." The fact daunted me. I'd lived here for the first sixteen years of my life and it was where I always thought I would remain for the rest of it.

"Well, so what's gonna happen?" Ashlyn asked. "Does this mean the band's done?"

The thought of the band not going on after I was gone struck a chord in me. We weren't anything official, but it was an escape for all of the girls—not just me.

"Hell no. I'm not the heart of this band, there's no reason for it to disappear because I move. Sara and Cristine, you both write songs, so keep writing 'em! Besides, we can still video chat and have our own rehearsals that way," I encouraged.

If someone told me two years ago I was going to be in a teenage band, I would've said, "You're freaking crazy", but now it was as normal as fighting or horseback riding. Not that I was crazy about it; I didn't exactly have a natural, God-given talent for singing. I was simply decent; it's come from years and years of singing along to my favorite Disney songs and movies, then to screaming along to songs from my favorite bands.

Sara, the backup vocals, had a deeper, sultry sound to her voice while mine was more on the pitched side with a gruff vocal. But the one thing I enjoyed doing more than belting it out like a crazy woman was jamming out with my 1970's Stratocaster electric guitar. My mom's ex-boyfriend, who was an entertainer and singer, bought it for me when I was thirteen; he was the one who encouraged me to pick up music.

I've got to say, even though he hadn't been around in years since their relationship ended, I found myself thankful for his advice. I've always liked to write poetry, even though I sucked at it, so writing song lyrics was another plus. I'm not one of those fanatic music children who say music is their life, though I give those people kudos for their dedication. I just enjoyed using music as another way to tell stories, to express myself and unleash emotion–a less stressful, less dangerous method to exert my emotional and physical energy.

"Well, what do you say we do one more song together, before you go?" Sara encouraged.

"I don't know what song to sing; I haven't been able to write any lyrics lately." The stress of packing and leaving had disabled my ability to vent through song lyrics or poetry, and that made me even angrier.

"Don't sing one of your songs then," petite but boyish Cristine suggested, tapping her drumsticks against her knee. "Sing a song you know that expresses how you're feeling right now. I think we can all agree on whatever you choose."

Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I let out a deep sigh. I couldn't deny the band –and myself –this one last opportunity to play together.

"All right. My Chemical Romance's 'Famous Last Words'."

"Yes, sir." Ashlyn jumped up to fetch her guitar, as she played bass; Cristine took her seat by her drum set, and Sara came by my side with her guitar. We were all quite colorful; my guitar was black and maroon red with a bleeding effect of darkened strips of black; Sara's guitar was black and purple, and Ashlyn's was black and yellow.

Amanda's dainty fingers worked their magic across her keyboard. Inhaling, I breathed the first lyrics of the song into the microphone.

"Now I know that I can't make you stay. But where's your heart? But where's your heart? But where's you… And I know there's nothing I can say to change that part. To change that part… To chaaaange."

I drug my guitar pick against the strings, harmonious with Sara's own melody; with the soft sounds of Amanda's keyboard and Cristine's drums picking up in pace, I could feel the song really start to course through me. So much so, I sang the song as if all of my enemies, friends, school mates, and family were standing before me. Soon, the song became my own to sing.

"…A life that's so demanding, I get so weak. A love that's so demanding, I can't speak. I am not afraid to keep on livin'. I am not afraid to walk this world alone…" I heard Ashlyn shout out something, but I was too focused and enveloped in the moment to hear exactly what it was she said. She kept playing, so it wasn't anything of dire importance. In the climax of the song, Sarah, Ashlyn and I all went crazy with guitar solos. Often when performing covers of My Chemical Romance's songs, I always envision the band members doing their thing; Gerard's expressive antics, Frank's hyperactive guitar-playing, Bob's passionate blows to the drums… It only amped up my performance, as if I could be there performing with them.

"Cuz I see you lyin' next to me, with words I thought I'd never speak. Awake and unafraid. Asleep or dead. Cuz I see you lying next to me, with words I thought I'd never speak. Awake and unafraid. Asleep or DEEEEAAADD!" I let my lungs and gut empty out the passionate note as hard and as loud as I could while entwined with Sara's own voice. As we came down to the final verse, all music eventually withered away until it was just Sara and I singing in harmony.

"…I am not afraid to walk this world alone. Tell me if you stay I'll be forgiven. Nothing you can say can stop me going home…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh, how I love to create drama. **

**Some bits in this chapter also are inspired by events in my life (I won't pin-point which), because that's just the kind of "bond" I've always had with my OC Jordane. **

**And since this is the "author's note" section… A quick little note about the scenes where cutting was brought up… I don't mean to offend anyone who has had experience with cutting, either with themselves or someone dear to them. I didn't go through it myself (though I know people who have), so forgive me if the way I write my OC's friend comes off as ignorant or insensitive. **

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

**Friend/Follow me on Facebook **

**Watch me on DeviantART**

**(Links are in my profile)* **


	6. 5: The Move

**5. The Move**

**_Jordane_**

I jerked awake due to my infallible alarm clock yet again. I groaned swear words too low to be made out as anything but gibberish, slapping my alarm clock off.

But it'd turn out I wouldn't need it anyway.

"Jordane, let's get going!" Mom called from across the hall in her bedroom. Sitting up, I didn't exactly comprehend just what the fuss was about today. That was, until I looked around my room; my empty, bland room. The walls were a frighteningly bare blue, boxes were piled high at every corner, my desk was gone along with my computer and TV; the only furniture I had was the twin-sized air mattress I lied on.

I could feel that ache raking the back of my throat, but I willed myself not to break down and cry, no matter how much I needed to. Tears did me no good at this point.

Everything we couldn't fit in the trailer or afford to fly through with us had already been shipped to Japan; our TV sets, our desks, our furniture, and most of my gadgets and belongings, including my Cobra.

All else was packed away in boxes, save for the essentials or sentimental things I wanted to keep close, stored in duffel bags or back-packs; laptop, sketchbooks, favorite stuffed animals, and the dark cedar jewelry chest that contained a possession of my father's. Opening it, I found the bizarre-looking amulet safely tucked in the bed of velvet, as it always was. The pearled paleness of the gem that sat in the heart of the bronze trinket perplexed me even to this day.  
>Something that used to be my father's should grant me solace, comfort…but it often had the opposite effect; it creeped me out and onset a heaviness whenever I looked at it, making it difficult to feel any sort of attachment or fondness toward it. It was so damned strange. I never wore it—I kept it tucked away on the top shelf in my closet most of the time, but I made sure I kept a careful eye on it through the packing process. Mom would kill me if I lost it.<p>

While Mom was getting the last of the dishes and kitchen counter-top appliances, I stepped outside in our backyard and headed straight for the custom work-shed barn; I stood and looked around in the space big enough to be a typical bedroom, where I stored our hay and tack and supplies. Off to the right, there was a door; undoing the stiff old latch, I walked into what had been Ziggy's stall. The two six-foot-long steel-frame panel gates were still shut, as they had been since the week he died.

On the ground in the corner was a concrete slab, sitting next to a cheaply framed picture. I gazed at the photo of Ziggy and I from two years ago; the smile on my face was alien to me after so long. Ziggy was his usual perky self, looking at the camera with ears perked, eyes wide and curious.

The concrete slab was made shortly after his death; it had the imprint of one of his old shoes, which I always kept, along with his name Ziggy a.k.a "Big Man Zig", and other miscellaneous patterns and colors around the year of his birth and death.

"You should probably take that with us."

Mom's voice didn't startle me; I'd heard her footsteps depress the dried straw and hay in the barn before she even entered the stall. I shook my head.

"No. I have plenty of pictures of Zig to remember him by; this is supposed to commemorate his life and death, which was right here in Washington, so it'll stay here." Then, I looked at her imploringly, unable to bring any words from my mouth.

But for once, she read my mind when I wanted her to. "I'm not selling the house. It'll be ours for as long as we want it. It can be sitting here for when we're ready to move back or for a vacation home if we don't."

That was good enough for me.

I helped Mom with the rest of the remaining boxes and packed them all as tightly as I could in the pull-along trailer we had hitched to the back of our 4-Runner. As I went back to the house to retrieve the last of the boxes, Mom stood in the doorway, her back to me, just staring into the house. I could tell, even from a side profile, by how fast she was blinking that she'd begun to cry. I didn't want to get caught into it, so I stood by quietly and waited 'til she was finished.

Amanda and her mother had already thrown a going-away barbeque last night for us; but for Amanda it wasn't enough of a final goodbye. I noticed Amanda standing over by the short picket fence separating my front yard from hers. Her soft face was somber with a heavy frown, her brows knitted into sorrow.

Immediately I went over to her with a lengthy gait and met her in an embrace, clutching her tightly –a gesture not too common, as neither of us are physically affectionate toward people.

Ever since I met her, I've never been lonely; I hardly remember what it felt to be lonely because of her. Now I was going off to this new place, where I knew nobody and everything would be different, and I would be lonely.

"I bought a webcam and a really neat desktop monitor," I muttered, breaking from the hug. "We'll be able to talk and do band practice, even though I'm not here."

Amanda nodded sadly. "Promise you'll call the minute you land so I know you all got there safely."

"Will do." After sharing one more hug, I finally tore myself from Amanda's embrace and jogged for the car, where my family waited for me. As we pulled out, Amanda stayed where she was and held her hand up in a motionless farewell gesture. I placed my hand flat against my window to match up with her distant hand.

Mom drove away slowly, but I couldn't keep my eyes forward. I turned around in my seat and my eyes locked on Amanda and my house as they got farther and farther. Nearing the corner, my heart sputtered as Mom stopped, then turned onto the main road; everything I knew and loved disappearing from view.

I said goodbye to every little thing about that small town I loved as we drove along; I said goodbye to my old elementary school –where I met Amanda and had so many awesome memories and awesome teachers. I said a silent goodbye to Angel and Goldie; I almost began to cry at the thought of how I wouldn't be able to go see them and give them the company they deserved.

I said goodbye to the town's Feed Mill, my favorite place to hang out; I said goodbye to the family diner; I said goodbye to all of Washington as we were on the freeway and crossed the I-205 Bridge over the Columbia River, making our way to the Airport.

Upon arrival, the plane we'd be riding in, a continental jet, was loading; it'd be another hour or two though, before it was ready to receive passengers. Lizzie was nervous when being put in the kennel; the cats had to be taken from their own kennels and put into the airport's safety kennels.

While waiting for the boarding call, Mom and I sat in the food court. I took idle bites of cheese pizza, not really hungry enough to solely focus on my appetite. Finally, after a tense wait, the moment came to board. I wasn't at all impressed with the size of the plane, nor was I relieved of the few amount of people. Of course, I was in a sullen mood because of the whole situation, but I was also nervous about flying. I've never flown before and certain heights made me feel a bit queasy.

It was funny; I was unafraid of being mauled and beat up by werewolves, but you stick me in an airplane and my palms are sweating.

Taking off, my nerves were put aside for the moments I flew over Oregon and Washington; I took picture after picture of Mt. Hood and Saint Helens along with the Columbia River, until we were well out over the Pacific Ocean.

Already feeling mentally exhausted, I tried to catch some sleep during the ten-hour flight, but I wasn't very lucky. The row of seats beside us were occupied by a family of four; the two kids had a pillow fight, fought over the headphones and movies to watch, while the mom read an adult romance novel with a cheesy cover and the dad read a sports magazine. My hands balled into tight fists as I resisted the urge to walk up and tell the parents to pay attention to their damn kids, or shut the little bastards up myself. Slipping on my headphones, I selected My Chemical Romance on my MP3 player and just tried to lose myself in their songs.

It worked. The next time I opened my eyes, I could see land; but not just land –city, and a lot of it. My heart sunk to my stomach with dread. This was going to be my new home –one of the most populated, modernized cities in the world; a small town in the middle of the country was what I was used to. This was not going to be an easy adjustment.

The hour spent at the airport was exhausting. Dawn was just breaking, which really sent me for a loop, since we'd gotten up at six A.M back in Washington. We found our escort, who stood by all our belongings that weren't in the trailer we brought overseas. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I found Lizzie, Smokey, and Malibu, all safe and sound. Taking a certain exit, we found our 4-Runner, hitched to the moving trailer and ready to go.

Getting through the city in traffic was going smooth 'til about an hour into the road trip; it must have been morning rush hour. The morning was filled with radio stations, car motors, and Mom swearing. I would have gone back to sleep, but I knew Mom would need me to be that second pair of eyes looking out for traffic.

"How much longer do we have to go?" I sighed, adjusting myself in my seat. Lord, it felt as if we'd been on the road all freaking night.

"We've still got another ten miles to go."

Within another hour, my eyes were pleasantly relieved when I could see trees, yards, and a modern suburbia as we turned off the main highway. I categorized and marked each house and street name in my memory for the next time we would be driving these streets. A great deal of the houses were very grand, and some rather odd-looking in architectural style. It was still a suburb, though; it felt familiar in spite of the new details.

We reached the end of the semi-rural cul-de-sac; for a moment, I thought we'd gotten lost.

"We're here," I heard Mom announce with a relieved sigh. My eyes set sight on my new home as we pulled into the generous driveway. It was a two-story, just like the one back in Washington, but it looked far bigger. It had to be well over two-thousand square feet, as opposed to our old house which was only fourteen-hundred.

The color scheme was reverse; our old house was white with a deep green –almost black –trim; this house was painted a deep maroon red with vibrant white trim. Just as our old house, the cement driveway was very large and had an extra parking slot for boats, RVs and other such uses.

Looking over at Mom, I was dead surprised to see her gleaming with a bright smile. I hadn't seen her that excited in a while.

Getting Lizzie out of the car, we treaded the neat cobblestone walkway and up to the front door; an elegant mahogany with intricate glass patterns. But not too much; I hated doors that were half made up of glass.

As soon as we walked in the door, I couldn't help the sense of wonder that rushed over me. The space was very open and refreshing, but not necessarily empty. All our furniture stood in random places along with other boxes piled against walls. The last time I'd looked around at a new house, I was six; surely too young to really take in the exciting event with any mature perspective.

Mom only want to make it better by playing Ms. Real Estate Agent; practice for her new job, no doubt. After basking in the impressive great room, she directed my attention to the hallways off to the right of the front door. Straight down, was a small bedroom.

"A spare room; it'll be my office." In seeing the master bedroom just adjacent to that room, it wasn't as if she couldn't have enough room for a desk there.

"And God, Jordane, look at this kitchen!" Completely walking in the house, I laid eyes on the _crème de la crème_ of any household: the kitchen. The counters were black granite, as opposed to the outdated vinyl countertops in Washington; stainless steel appliances, wooden cupboards that were a de-saturated terra cotta, and a huge pantry.

Off the pantry was a small hallway which led to the moderate-sized utility room, and across from this was the garage. I couldn't help but grin when I found my Mustang Cobra, safely parked. I would do a thorough examination for any bumps or scrapes later; seeing the rest of the house was my first priority.

Lizzie was sniffing around the house like crazy; her head down, nose glued to the floor, she investigated every room. I was curious as to what was upstairs then, since I hadn't come across where my bedroom would be.

"Your bedroom is up here," Mom declared, the smile on her face confusing me. The staircase was far more elegant than the one back at home, which was a simple country-style rail. This was probably two times as wide.

Not wasting another minute, I followed Mom up the stairs and off to the right down a private hall, in front of me, stood an open door. I stepped inside and my eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

My bedroom was bigger than my mother's, probably fifteen-by-seventeen feet. I looked to my right and found a wide closet with French doors. Off from the closet was the bathroom, quite a fancy one, too; very roomy. The size of the tub and shower blew me away.

The room was already filled in one corner with my furniture and other things. I found in place of my twin-sized bed was a new queen-sized mattress.

"I figure since it's a bigger bedroom, you'd have plenty of room for a bigger bed," she told me after I had turned to look at her for inquiry

Off in the far left of the room, I noticed an open threshold to an empty space. To my delight, it was a smaller attachment to the room –a retreat, was what they're called.

"That's not all," Mom said, "Go up those stairs." The iron-railed steps were what I noticed when I first walked in that room; at the top they were only four feet off the ground. Directly in front of me at the end of the stairway was a black screen door; I opened it and was taken aback as I recognized a cement balcony. There was where I got the real surprise; trees surrounded the house in an upward hill. Were we at the foot of a mountain? How could I not notice this as we drove up?

It was from this vantage point I could take note to something else: the size of the property. It was double the land of what we had back at home, branching out from the left side of the house. I'd thought the land was just a bunch of vacant parcels to be built on when we first arrived.

"It's a little over two acres." Mom stood at the door still, just watching me as I took in the riches of this new atmosphere. "So when the time does come to get another horse, we won't have to worry about boarding it someplace else to sustain the grazing; we can keep it right here at home, safe and sound."

I'd like that arrangement, for sure. However, the fact she'd called this place "home" stirred the hairs on the back of my neck. I was nowhere near ready to call this place home yet.

A small door barely two feet in width was off on the opposite wall as the stairway in the retreat. How many more secret spaces did this house have?

My bedroom was nothing compared to the space I walked in; it had to be the length of two master suites, if not bigger. But it wasn't just the size of the room that intrigued me; there were ledges and steps and posts rigged against the walls and corners, as if someone had turned this into an obstacle course of some kind.

"I talked to the people who previously owned this house; they used to use it for an at-home daycare," Mom explained, "Originally, this was the attic and other such storage, but I guess they wanted to utilize this into a bigger play area so they actually expanded the walls so the kids could run, play and even lay down. There are little walled hiding places, crawlspaces; they basically turned this place into an indoor playground."

The place did look as if it were made for kids; one of the corners high up was fashioned and painted like a medieval castle, while another corner had a sort of doll-house appeal. I could fix these things on my own and put my own twist on it.

Suddenly, my heart sunk in spite of the moment of being a kid in a candy store; I missed Amanda terribly, wishing she could have been here –wishing she and I could enjoy this playground together so we could camp out in our sleeping bags.

Snapping out of it, I then turned to my mother, narrowing my eyes in a skeptical scrutiny. "Don't you think you're overcompensating much, Mom?"

She shrugged. "You always bugged me at home about wanting to expand and make space."

"Well, yeah, so I could train and stuff, which you grounded me from doing," I reminded her, not letting my hopes flutter high yet. Mom pursed her lips.

"I grounded you from _fighting_," she corrected. Oh, but I remember her exact words that day, after I'd gotten in the worst fight I had yet; "You think you're invincible?! Your father was full-blooded Saiyan, but he was still mortal; he died in a car wreck, of all things! You're going to get yourself killed one of these days! You know what, I'm not even going to let you continue to get that far; from now on until I say different, you are grounded from fighting of any kind –after-school training with karate or martial arts or kickboxing. You need to take that violence out of your life!"

"You can train as a pass-time, but not for any other ulterior motives. If you even so much as fall an inch back into that frame of mind you had back in Washington, I'll move you into that dinky bedroom downstairs and take your punching bag to the dump. Am I clear?"

I shrugged. "Yeah."

"I mean it," she growled sternly, lips barely moving and eyes bearing down on me. I threw my hands up at my sides.

"What else do you expect me to say?" I retorted defensively.

"'Yes, Mom, I'll stay out of trouble so I can keep my training privileges', would be nice."

I subtly rolled my eyes –a gesture she would have normally screamed at me for, but today, she was letting it slide. "Fine, I promise to continue to stay out of trouble so I can keep training out of hobby."

For the rest of the day, Mom and I unloaded the trailer and sifted through each box, deciding what we wanted to put in place or keep packed for sake of space. She ordered pizza for a late lunch and we scarfed ourselves in-between unpacking. For our late dinner, Mom ordered pasta and chicken dishes from a take-out and delivery restaurant. Safe to say neither of us felt like cooking tonight.

We were both taken by surprise when we gazed out our windows and found it dark outside; even more so when we looked at the clock and found it was getting to be around ten o' clock. It felt as if we did so much, but upon examination, it really wasn't. The furniture was pressed against the wall, leaving the living room empty except for the queen-sized air-mattress which lay in the middle of the floor, and the flat-screen TV nestled on the ground a few feet in front of it.

Lizzie curled up in her bed beside us, the cats all snuggled and hid in their scratch-post houses, Mom and I shared the air-bed and stuck in one of our favorite movies, _Troy_, to watch and fall asleep to. Even with the low volume of the movie, the house seemed unbearably quiet and alien. The sheets still smelled like our old spring blossom detergent –like home. It was that first awkward yet exciting night in a new place; furniture and boxes lay in temporary places just to give as much functional space as possible, bed sheets were pulled up over the windows because there were no curtains. This place had neither of our personal tastes added to its décor; that's what made it so sterile.

Halfway into the three-hour movie, I fell asleep. My body still felt as if it could run a marathon across the cities of Vancouver and Portland, but my mind didn't want to think another thought.

_Sleep. I need sleep._

We were here; there was no more need anticipation. At least, for now.

By morning, I was the first to wake. The sun hadn't fully risen yet; parts of the neighborhood were still dim. I already knew there was no food anywhere, so I didn't bother looking for anything to eat, despite how loud my stomach rumbled.

Wandering upstairs, I stood in my new, disorganized bedroom, formulating a layout in my head. Not too long, I found myself drawn out to my balcony, bringing my camera for whatever I may find.

I ended up taking dozens of photos that morning. The sunrise was absolutely breathtaking. The sky had beautiful ribbons of blue and orange and even some purple, little rays of sunshine splitting through the clouds. The air even smelled cleaner, which was the real treat. A slight breeze carried along all the scents I loved; pine, fresh dirt, dewy grass, and flowers of different varieties and species.

Maybe, just maybe, I could make an effort to enjoy living here.

* * *

><p>Before we went on with the rest of our to-do list, the first thing Mom and I wanted to do was go stock up on food. The drive to the supermarket was filled with observation and curiosity. The supermarket itself was indeed super; you wouldn't think a place called Chan's Grocers would essentially be a stock warehouse.<p>

There was no budget for this shopping trip; Mom said to get whatever we desired –enough to last us until she started working. With such free range, I went down every aisle in the store, almost always throwing at least one, if not three things into the cart. I enjoyed eating healthy, but I also had my guilty pleasures, too.

Our cart was stuffed to the brim by the time we got in line for the register, but we weren't the only ones. This was the type of store you'd leave with a cart overfilled of food.

When the lady in front of us finished her payment transaction, and she'd turned away for the end of the aisle, I heard a light tap on the floor. Looking down, I saw it's the woman's debit card.

"Ma'am," I called gently, picking up the card. But upon standing back up, I saw the woman had already been half-way at my level to retrieve the card. She smiled as I handed her the card.

"Thank you very much."

"No problem." I smiled back. Having a chance to look her closely in the face, I could tell she was around my mother's age, if not a little younger, with eye-popping red hair and green eyes. The girl she joined at the bagging station had the same uncanny, beautiful appearance. It was safe to assume the girl was her daughter.

I began to bag groceries while the woman and her daughter continued bagging their things on the other side of the counter. We continued to exchange smiles at each other between bagging.

"Are you new around here?"

I lifted my head in surprise. This wasn't exactly a small town; how could someone notice a new face out of a sea of hundreds. "Um, yeah, we just moved here yesterday."

The woman smiled. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Vicki and this is my daughter Renea." Upon hearing her name, the daughter looked at me and smile. She looked very much like her mother; the same fiery red hair, vibrant green eyes, and dapples of light freckles across her cheeks. Not too many, though.

"Thanks. I'm Jordane, that's my mom Debb."

"Lovely to meet both of you."

For another few minutes, I returned to bagging as quickly as I could so the people in line wouldn't have to wait too terribly long for an open aisle. "Are you a horseman?" Vicki asked, and I immediately faced her again. This time, I could understand where her inquiry came from; my favorite, emerald green 4-H group hoodie.

"Oh, yes. But I'm horse-less now, so…"

"What happened?" The woman put the last of the grocery bags in her cart.

I was unsure if I wanted to share my sob-story; after a moment's hesitation, I gave her the short summary. "My horse died in a barn fire set by an arsonist."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Vicki seemed genuinely sympathetic. Her hand slid into her purse and rummaged through her wallet; she then scribbled on the back of a card with a pen and handed it to me. "There's a year-round fairgrounds just outside of town; they have horse shows and competitions there every other week, and they're always looking for stable-hands to help clean stalls and handle the horses. If you're looking for a job, I'd suggest checking out the stables there."

The card had the name of the fairgrounds and the address. I was genuinely surprised this woman was taking such interest and concern into my situation. "Wow, thanks." Mom was equally thrilled, too; she had that impressed, almost relieved look in her eyes.

After exchanging more words of gratification, we parted ways. I finished bagging the groceries a few minutes after Vicki and her daughter had left the store. Taking a second look at the card, the opposite side held her name and occupation, which I was intrigued to find was veterinary medicine.

"She was awfully nice," Mom said as we waited for the pedestrian cross-walk to turn. "That'd be a good opportunity for you; maybe you can find someone who will be willing to sell you their horse. And, who knows, maybe you'll find a cute horse-boy."

I winced, resisting the urge to blush. "Ugh, Mom…"

She laughed. "Oh, come on. I'd think that'd be your dream man, wouldn't it?"

"Mom, we are _not_ talking about guys. And besides, around here, I'm sure most of those equestrian guys are rich, pretty-boy snobs with egos the size of a whale shark."

"But they're rich, and have horses." Mom nudged my arm and laughed again. Talking about men was just downright awkward around my mom. If she didn't joke around about marrying a man for his money, then it's a somber talk about making the right choices in regards to what kind of man I choose; if not that, then it's her infamous, maternally-charged "No having sex until you're married" monologue. All things which were good to talk about, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't necessary for me. I'd just as soon ignore the existence and possibility of relationships all together. I had better things to look forward to and work toward in life.

Rolling my eyes, I happily walked a couple feet ahead of the cart when the sign flashed WALK. About halfway across the crosswalk, my personal bubble was popped by an ear-splitting flood of car horns, tire screeches, and my mother's screaming. I looked to my right and saw a car's front end barreling straight for me.

I flailed my arms in front of me with a shriek of surprise, a deep instinct telling me there was some way I could deflect the four-wheel death machine.

In a blink, everything was a loud crash, but upon opening my eyes, I was still standing, unscathed. I couldn't say the same for the car, which, to my utter shock, was lying on its roof. It was one of those annoying little two-door cars with a crappy paint job and tinted windows, now even worse-looking, with its front end smashed in as if it hit another car head-on.

Although every inch of my human conscience wanted to ask how it was possible, another part of my mind already found a conclusion.

_No, not again…_

"Jordane!" Mom hissed, pulling me along by the sleeve. Apparently, we wouldn't need to stick around to see if the car's driver was alright; he was on our tail by the time we reached our car.

"Lady!" the guy bellowed, marching toward us. Remarkably, he only had a couple scratches on him, but his baggy, dark clothes were torn and scuffed. "Lady, I don't know what the hell you did to my car, but you gotta pay for it!"

"We were crossing, we had the right of way, dumbass!" I lashed. Mom wouldn't have it; she pulled me off to the side.

"Jordane, get in the car." I snapped my mouth shut, but didn't conform to my mother's demand. I lingered as she confronted the man. "I don't know where your eyes were, but they sure as hell weren't on the road. We had the right of way; the crosswalk was still green when you came speeding through the damn lot. I owe you nothing."

"Bullshit! Look at my car!"

"Your fault," Mom snapped, turning from the belligerent man to put the bags of groceries in the back of the 4-Runner.

"Listen, you bitch -!" I looked and my mom was slapping his hands away, but he went at her again. I lunged forward, making the man go stumbling back with one light shove of my hand. In the next instant, he was coming for me, and just that quick, I had yanked his fist behind his back, kneed his groin from behind and then threw him against another car. I held him down with all my weight on his back.

"You touch my mother again, I'll break every bone in your body, understand?" He only wheezed and whimpered in response. I wasn't satisfied. "_Understand_?!"

"Yes! Now let me go! Please!" I let the moron have his wish; I released him with an unkind shove and he stumbled a couple feet, hand cupping his crotch while the arm I had held hung awkward and stiff.

"Is there a problem?"

Snapping my head upright, I found the figure behind the voice. It was a man –no, wait; it took two steady glances for me to see he was more boy than man, though his physical prowess didn't make it easy to discern his age. He had disheveled black hair that was somehow the perfect balance between spiked and shaggy, with eyes that looked a solid, deep black –no way to tell where the pupil or iris began. Those eyes went from me to my mother to the man who almost hit us.

"No, we're fine. Just a disagreement," Mom answered calmly.

"My car is trashed!" the guy complained. "So yes, I do have a problem!"

"The crosswalk was green and this idiot came speeding into us," I added gruffly, trying not to look at the attractive boy. When I glanced over in his direction, again, I saw the woman I met in the store –Vicki, and her daughter, along with another boy who looked older than your typical high school student. He was rather handsome, too.

"It's true, I was right behind them," a woman voiced, walking up. "That man sped out of the east lot to get ahead of the flow of traffic and he swerved right into that lady and girl. Only, he didn't hit them; I didn't see what happened after that. I had turned away to prepare myself for the collision, but by the time I looked, the car was on its top. The strangest thing… But yes, that young man is at fault."

The black-eyed boy glanced from the woman back to me and my mother. His face was completely vacant of expression; he was calm, but no other emotion came. It's as if smoothing out public quarrels was something he did on a regular basis. "Renea, why don't you call the police and get them down here so they can settle this." Through the commotion and heavy traffic, I could still hear the boy's velvet, easy voice, but not as clearly and justly as opposed to being in a silent room.

_Stop ogling!_ I snapped at myself.

The police arrived within fifteen minutes, took statements, and observed the situation. I sat in the open back of our 4-Runner, analyzing it all. Despite all the action, my eyes kept going back to the black-haired boy. To my surprise, he stayed throughout the entire ordeal, watching, hovering; his black eyes following every move intently. I've never seen anyone look so focused before, especially for something as trivial as this. Most bystanders had gone their way long before the police even got there.

What was more odd, the boy lingered around the scene, and his attention kept going back to the demolished car; he stared at it intently as if decoding its condition. Aside from being somber, he looked puzzled, as if there was something he was searching for –a conclusion or an answer.

"I can't believe this happened," Mom mumbled. Yeah, neither did I believe it; our first day in town, too. And for our first day in town, we've also met some interesting people.

I grinned when I saw the cops take away the maniac driver in handcuffs. _Serves you right._

Before we left, I tried looking for the black-haired boy again, but he had disappeared out of sight, within the first few seconds I took my eyes off of him. I couldn't find Vicki or her daughter, either, since he appeared to be with them. Her son, perhaps? Or her daughter's boyfriend?

Blinking, I shrugged it off.

During my down-time back at home, I went over the scene at the grocery store in my head.

I knew what made that car flip over, without any touch. It was no mystery, either, how the energy in me was provoked. It's hardly the first time such an occurrence happened. Letting my control slip and my energy exuberate itself was a constant happening when I was a child.

According to my mom's memory, I once cut my knee on glass when I was four and the energy I exerted through my pain shook the entire apartment complex to the point everything on the walls fell and select few windows shattered. Another instance was at school in fourth grade; I had been upset because someone made fun of my stage fright in class during a participation exercise. My energy released itself on the boys and girls who were teasing me, tossing them nearly thirty feet across the playground.

It didn't happen as often anymore, but my temperament was still unsound, so I couldn't always guarantee sanity and control. It was hard enough to suppress those powers and deal with the attention when I slipped up at home, but now it's stirring up here?

_Can't I just get a break? Just once, so I can be just a smidgen of normal for once in my life? _Wait, "normal"? Upon recalling the thought, my conscience huffed at the word. Haven't I had enough "normal" in my life? Normal never did me any good, because I never was and never will be normal. What I needed as a break was to just learn how to control myself, but hell, I'd gone through it a thousand times before in my head; I didn't know where to start. No father, no guidance, no right answers…

This was going to make life here very interesting.

* * *

><p>My free week flew by way too fast. Before I knew it, I was woken up by the banshee screech of my alarm clock at six in the morning. Back to the old routine, with a new twist.<p>

After waking myself up with a lukewarm shower, I threw on a random assortment of new clothes. More tailored Tripp pants my mother objected against were my obvious choice; the navy-blue and gray tunic with a long-sleeved fishnet were a last-minute improve on my part, after standing in front of my closet for ten minutes.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you to school?" Mom asked when I'd made my way downstairs. She already made her distaste for my wardrobe known, but it didn't do any good. I grabbed a chocolate protein shake from the fridge.

"I'm sure." There was a small voice in my head, though; that small little girl who always wanted Mom around when something was new or different. It would be nice to be safely driven to school and have the brief comfort of my mother's presence, but my pride convinced me I needed the space.

"Take it easy on that car, Jordane! No speeding!" Mom called as I made my way to the garage.

Sliding into the black and red interior of my Cobra, satisfaction percolated my limbs even more when I turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. I cracked my first smile in days, it felt like, as I sank into the seat.

Mom and I had driven to this new school a couple of days ago, just so I knew where it was, which was nice. It was going to be a stressful enough day adjusting to a new school, new classmates and new teachers, and I really didn't need to have trouble finding my way to school first.  
>The drive took nearly forty-five minutes, just to cover the distance; traffic was congested but smooth enough and without any delays, thankfully. I knew the school was huge, but upon arriving and trying to find a space to park, I realized just how colossal the one-building school campus really was. It was probably two times the size of my generously-spaced old school in Washington.<p>

Twice the size, twice the amount of students, twice the likely chance I'll get lost.

Finally laying sight on an empty parking slot, I carefully made my way for it in the busy parking lot. But ahead of me, I saw a pastel yellow Volkswagen Beetle coming my way, with turn signal blinking right –for the empty parking spot.

_Oh no you don't._ Inclining my foot in the gas pedal, I sped up and swiftly turned into the parking stall when the Volkswagen was just feet from it. Finders keepers.

The car honked at me and upon getting out, I saw the heavily made-up brunette's face grimace at me, flipping me the bird as she drove off. _If I was in my uncle's pickup, I'd squash your cute little Bug without needing to raise a finger._

Finding my way to the office, I was greeted by a nice woman who rounded up all the paperwork I needed. The office's plentiful smells were very potent; green tea, vanilla, coffee beans, jasmine, honey, and mint. "Here's a map of the school. And don't worry about being a few minutes late; teachers here understand navigating through this school on your first day isn't easy," the lady assured me with a smile. This lifted a little weight off my shoulders.

"Thanks."

"Have a good first day."

Good thing teachers here didn't expect new students to be on-time by the dot; I was still trying to find my first class just three minutes before the start of school. The hallways all looked the same; when I'd thought I found the right staircase, it would in fact be the wrong one. The map looked old, too; the levels were labeled, so I had to take rounds through each hall just to foresee the pattern.

The bell rang, and I sunk. Great.

"Do you need some help?" The girl's voice made me start a little because I was in such a concentrated trance. I looked to find a short, pixie-like girl standing before me with wavy, sandy-colored hair and bright hazel eyes –almost green.

"Um, yeah, I do. I'm a bit lost." _Obviously, Jordane._

Instead of laughing or looking at me like I was an idiot, the girl smiled. "Don't worry about it, new kids get lost every year, it's pretty much inevitable. What's your first class?"

"Math one-seventy-five, with Mr. Nikle.

For some reason, the girl beamed. "That's where I'm headed. What's the rest of your schedule?" I glanced down the classes and teacher names on my schedule. After reading off each one, I looked up to see the girl giggling. "It must be your lucky day, 'cuz I have all those classes, too, except for Art but it's just across the hall. I could be your guide for the day, if you'd like."

A breath of relief lifted a majority of the weight off my shoulders. _This _must_ be my lucky day_. "Wow, thanks a lot. This'll make my day so much easier."

"No worries. Oh, I'm Kendra, by the way," she said to me as we hurried for our class.

"Jordane."

Thankfully, we crossed the threshold of the door before the second bell rang. The entire class was full, but not crowded. In fact, the room was very large. Thirty-five students or so was what I swiftly counted as we walked up to the teacher's desk. The walk, for some reason, seemed longer than it appeared. Then again, a class full of thirty-some pairs of eyes honing in on you like an obscurity could instigate such an effect.

"Mr. Nikle," Kendra addressed the shy-of-fifty man with glasses. A math teacher named Nikle; I had just realized the irony of it.

"Good morning, Ms. Diamond. Who's this new face?" The man seemed friendly enough so far; I'd had the worst luck with math teachers in the past, and I was hoping this Mr. Nikle would be the one to break the pattern.

"This is Jordane."

"Ah! You must be Jordane Teague, our transfer from the States, hm?" Mr. Nikle dug into his desk drawer, bringing out a couple papers and a thick book. "Here is your textbook, a weekly class planner, and a syllabus." He smiled at me, and then glanced down at a seating chart in front of me.

"Since I see you and Kendra have gotten acquainted, I see no harm in seating you together."

_Wow. Hopefully the rest of my day will be this good._

As the class dragged on, I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed Mr. Nikle's teaching. He made a math class rather entertaining, and that's saying something!

My next subject was art; Kendra wasn't in this class, but it was just across the hall from hers, so I didn't need to look very far. The teacher, Mr. Ling, was nice too. He reminded me of my old art teacher from middle school; just without the wrinkles and old-man humor. To hear his feedback about my practice sketches lifted my spirits even more. It was definitely an improvement from Ms. Crane.

Biology was next; unfortunately, the teacher was very dull and most of the class was textbook and note-taking, with only a few labs. Well, those few were better than the dismal labs in the curriculum back home…

Lunch came around faster than I thought it would, yet it was later than most schools I've known; around twelve-thirty. Kendra escorted me to the cafeteria, telling me what it was like, all the food stands they had and how good the food was. But upon walking into the cafeteria, I could see why she had such a hard time describing it. As most cafeterias do, it took up probably more than half the school's space, but was twice the size of a full gymnasium. There was even a raised level above the back half of it, for more dining room.

The food stands were of plentiful variety, and smelled absolutely scrumptious and mouthwatering. I had brought my own peanut-butter sandwich and chips, just in case the food here was nothing of interest. However, since the food was everything I liked under the sun, I'd save the sandwich and chips for after school.

With my money I'd saved up from Washington, I bought myself two slices of cheese pizza, a salad, chips, breadsticks, a brownie, and a soda. A moderate meal compared to what I eat at home, but it would get me through 'til later in the afternoon.

"Whoa."

"Hmm?" I turned to Kendra as we made our way for a table.

"Do you have a high metabolism or something? How can you eat that much and still be in the shape that you are?" She almost looked envious as she kept eyeing my brownie and chips and breadsticks. I looked at her plate; a salad and a bland-looking club sandwich were all she had.

I shrugged. "I work out to make up for my poor diet," I said, half-jokingly.

"What do you do? You must tell me your secret!" Kendra laughed with me. I decided I'd be honest. After all, I had nothing more to hide other than my super-human bloodlines.

"I participate in equestrian activities, so working around horses makes me fit; I like to run and jog, and I do kick-boxing and martial arts."

She jerked her head back in my direction. "Wow. Martial arts, eh? You should be right at home here, then. They have local tournaments every year and championships every three years. It's a tradition around here." Really now? Well, it's not like I could participate, anyways. Not only would my mother forbid me to go, but dealing with crowds wasn't exactly my thing.

We finally found a table, which was half-way occupied by a group of girls and a couple of boys. It'd turn out though, it was Kendra's little group.

"Guys, this is Jordane, the new girl," Kendra introduced me as we took our seats. "Jordane, this is our posse; that's Rachel, Jane, Lacey, Dane, and Kyle." I looked at each of their faces as Kendra named them off, memorizing each one. One face, though, was almost too flustered for me to register; Kyle, the boy with shaggy brown hair and bright eyes, glanced at me for a brief second before returning his eyes to the book he read. I shrugged to myself.

The group seemed nice enough; Lacey, though, appeared peeved about something. Taking a minute to notice, I saw I was the only one in the group who looked the way I did; wildly dyed hair, punkish-goth clothes, and an overall dark appearance. I stuck out like a sore thumb.

The lunch hour was filled with questions and answers; at first, everyone at the table took turns asking me basic things about myself –where I lived, what I like to do, what I think or feel about certain things, etcetera. When I got to the part where I was a fighter –a martial artist, of sorts –the new point of conversation was something interesting.

"Martial arts is a tradition around here," Rachel said.

"That's what Kendra was saying," I verified, taking the last bite of my pizza. "Does the school have an outlet or dojo for martial arts classes for its students?" Not that there was any chance of me joining; not only would my mother disapprove, but it wouldn't be too wise for me to mix with humans for such…physical activities.

"In the last five years, the school has a dojo, yeah; it's one of the three schools to have one. Hercule Satan founded it." They spoke of this name as if I should know it—and I didn't.

"Who?"

"Hercule Satan," Kendra repeated. "You've never heard of him?"

"No." With the way the group looked at each other, I realized I must sound like an idiot. But it's not my fault I've never heard of this guy!

"He's only the man who single-handedly saved the world five years ago, from the super-monster named Cell...? The strongest martial arts champion, like, ever?" Lacey went on about it as if I had just come out from under a rock.

"Never heard of him, or this Cell person." With that, everyone's mouths opened and eyebrows shot up.

"What?" I asked, defensive. "Where I'm from, I never heard of either of these guys!"

"Well, I don't know how you never have heard of this, but I guess I'll fill you in," Kendra offered. She swallowed her last sip of juice. "Five years ago, this monster named Cell started blowing up things, then he hosted the Cell Games, which was a sort of martial arts tournament of his own."

A little firecracker went off in my mind. _Oh! _"The Cell Games? Wait, I think I might have heard of that—a long time ago, but I didn't think much of it at the time." Nobody seemed to verbally acknowledge my claim; Kendra continued.

"Hercule Satan competed in it. But, during the middle of the damn thing, every news crew's camera crashed. By the end of the day, though, Cell was gone, and Hercule was still standing."

"That's it?" I couldn't think of any other reaction than that; the whole thing sounded interesting, but I was more perplexed with the end result. "I mean, that's how they determined he saved the world; the bad guy was gone and he was still there?"

"And he went into detail how he killed him," Lacey added.

"There were other people there, too, don't forget. The Son family, remember?" another girl peeped.

"Oh! That's right," Kendra mused. I was totally lost, but she spared me the wasted breath and continued explaining. "Well, there are stories, other theories as to who killed Cell. Some say that Hercule claimed the victory when it really belonged to the Son family. Son Goku, who was the world martial arts champion before Hercule, was always around when strange things happened –like Cell. At the Cell Games, before the cameras went down, Goku's son fought. Then something was happening to him that made the whole planet go into a fit and the cameras stopped working. So, I guess technically, no one really knows who defeated Cell."

I automatically believed Kendra's version of the story; any other person who was out of this loop probably would have dismissed it has hogwash, but for some reason, I instinctively believed it. After all, it wouldn't be the first time any government denied or covered up something…

"Did the Son family or whoever claim they killed Cell, or what?"

"Actually, no; whenever they're asked about it, they never say anything. They haven't come forward at all. But lots of people still think either Son Goku or his son killed Cell five years ago."

"Not as many as the people who believe Hercule did it," Lacey declared.

"Maybe so, but it still doesn't change the fact there are still quite a few people who believe in the old traditions of martial arts are still rooting for the Son family. Their eldest son comes here, you know."

The table suddenly turned quiet. My voice was the first to break the speechlessness after one minute. "Really?"

"Yeah, but he keeps to himself. He has his own little group of friends; everybody calls them 'The Alphas'."

My eyebrows shot up at the name. "Why do they call themselves that?"

"They don't, really; other people do. They kinda earned that nickname 'cuz they're all kids of wealthy and well-known families. This may be a big city, but there are crowds that are tight-knit as a small town's. All the members of The Alphas are the kids of doctors, community activists, big business owners, and other things of the sort.

"They're like the royalty of the school; they all act like they're such hot shit." Lacey contorted her face in a distasteful frown.

"They're not all bad. They stay within their own group, sure, but they are nice if you ever talk to them," Kendra disagreed. All these mixed reviews were making it difficult for me to make my own judgment on this group "The Alphas". Then again, I wasn't much for getting sucked into local gossip.

"In fact, there they are over there, at their own little table," Lacey stated, turning her head to the right. My head immediately snapped in the same direction, but it took me a couple glances for me to find the right table, nestled in the corner of the cafeteria about forty feet from us.

The faces at the table were very intriguing and striking compared to most. There were more of them than I'd expected; I couldn't do a proper headcount because I always lost my place, but I estimated about seven to nine?

I noticed something else. "They're all in pairs?"

"Mhm," Kendra hummed. "That's 'cuz they're all together –you know, together-together. Each pair has been dating since late middle school. The first pair over on the far left; the girl with the short hair is Jade and that guy sitting beside her with the tattoos and piercings is Ian. Jade's parents both work in real estate; Ian's dad owns one of the biggest car makers in this region. The second pair, the girl with the long blonde hair is Jasmine; her guy is Elliot. Jasmine's moved here from London, and her mom is a fashion designer and her dad is a politician; Elliot's parents own a big local business. The pair opposite of them is Vince and Renea."

I immediately recognized the vibrant red-headed girl, the daughter of Vicki Rose. The boy beside her was the one on the sidelines from the grocery store lot; one who looked far too old to be in high school. He was very handsome; short-cropped hair with fine brows and deep hazel eyes.

"Renea's dad is a doctor and her mom is a vet, both are the best of their field. Vince, well, he lives with Renea and her family. No one knows what happened to his parents."

"He looks a bit old to be in high school," I noted quietly to Kendra, so the others wouldn't hear in case I guessed wrong.

"Well, Vince is nineteen. This school has a jumpstart college program for graduates. They continue coming to school here, but they're on a college level. We've got about fifty college-level students studying here. It allows for closer internships and beneficial scholarships."

Figuring the introductions were over, I continued to skim through the faces again, but was brought to a stop when I found a new face. Well, it wasn't exactly new; I've seen the face before, it's why it brought all thoughts to a stop.

It was the boy from the grocery store parking lot.

"Who is that? The spikey black-haired guy?"

"Gohan," Kendra answered casually, "The son of the martial arts champion Son Goku. He's the one who fought against Cell five years ago. He's kinda the ring leader of the group, I guess."

No wonder, I marveled, remembering how collected and stoic he was at the store. His body language and build seeped vibes of leadership and power. Even as he sat with his group fifty feet ahead of me, hands folded and elbows resting on the table as he eased into a relaxed slouch, there was definitely something brooding and powerful about him. It was confusing, for his face revealed something of a different nature; he looked too gentle to even hurt a fly.

"Is he in a college program, too, like the other guy?" I asked. Kendra giggled.

"No, he's sixteen, a sophomore like us."

_Wow_. I knew he had to be young, but I didn't expect him to be that young; I'd guessed eighteen or so. As I continued to stare over in his direction, Kendra and the others must have mistook my concentrated observation as ogling.

"Don't waste your time, Jordane," Kendra said, patting my shoulder.

"Waste my time with what?"

"Gohan may be hot, but don't let the heart-sputtering looks fool you. He's a loner. Notice how out of all his friends, he's the only guy without a girl on his arm?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did notice." I just didn't care to catalog its relevance 'til that moment.

"Apparently, he's such hot shit that nobody in this whole city's good enough for him," Lacey spat, throwing a spiteful glance in the group's direction. Already, this girl was getting on my nerves. Just in the first half-hour I've been introduced to her, she had nothing but negative remarks to say about everyone and everything. I didn't sit well with people like this.

"Not to mention he's a damn freak," one of the boys spat, his expression not as venomous as Lacey's, but still holding judgment.

"No shit! Remember the stuff he did at the Cell Games?"

"Didn't Hercule just write all that stuff off as a bunch of bullshit tricks?"

"Yeah he did, but what about that one time in sixth grade when all the windows in the class shattered all at the same time?" the girl named Rachel jumped.

"What does that have to do with him?" I asked, worming my way back into the conversation.

"He was in the class when it happened; the only thing I really remember about it other than the glass shattering from out of nowhere was that he looked pissed… Some guys were picking on him, I guess. But after the windows shattered, he didn't look surprised like the rest of us."

"Hell, he didn't even take cover; he was still sitting upright in his chair when we were all coming out from under our desks!" Dane exclaimed, his voice climbing in excitement from the subject.

A boy who could shatter windows without even touching them? I glanced back at the Alphas' table, watching the boy named Gohan idly fiddle with his pencil as he stared down at a notebook. To think he was capable of such a paranormal power—if it truly was him that caused the phenomenon—was irrefutably intriguing.

"So he's different. He really isn't bad," Kendra testified. It was relieving to hear her say that. I didn't want to dislike her, and the fact she saw something decent in Gohan created even more of a draw.

When lunch hour was finally over, Kendra and I trekked for our next class: English. The entire five-minute walk there, Kendra went on and on about how neat and cool the teacher was. "Mr. Banderaz is the coolest teacher you could ever have—even cooler than Mr. Nikle. He's probably my favorite teacher."

I only nodded towards Kendra's words as we turned and walked into the generous-sized classroom, with rows of long, two-seater tables. As Kendra took her seat, I went ahead and walked up to the desk nestled in the front corner of the class, where a dark-haired man sat in a comfortable chair.

"Excuse me, I'm Jordane Teague, I'm the new student…" When the teacher looked up at me, I could see he was a bit more aged than I'd thought. He grinned, deep dimples accentuating the kindness of his smile.

"Of course," he mumbled, fiddling with a couple papers in his binder. "First off, let me see if I can find you a seat…"

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Kendra already had a table partner; the shy tennis player, Kyle. No hope for being seated with a buddy there. "Oh dear," Mr. Banderaz sighed, glancing down at a seating chart. "I could have sworn we had another seat open. Well, I guess I'll just have to seat you with Mr. Son."

The name cut the cord that'd been keeping me carefree all day. "Son? As in Gohan Son?" I don't know why I was so befuddled by the fact I was going to be sitting next to him.

"Yes." Mr. Banderaz glanced at me before furrowing his brows. "You haven't been told any rumors about him, have you Ms. Teague?"

I scratched my shoulder. "Maybe a little," I admitted sheepishly. Mr. Banderaz grinned with a soft chuckle.

"Well, don't believe them. He is quiet and keeps to himself, but he doesn't bite. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky you'll have him as a table partner. He's one of the most brilliant students in this school."

It was just English class, why did I need to sit by a brilliant guy? I nodded, peeping, "Okay" and sat at the table he directed me to –the one right in center front. My table partner hadn't arrived in class yet.

In the long minute that followed, I tried to calm myself, telling my overactive mind not the worry so much about this guy. Recalling the fondness in Mr. Banderaz's voice and face when he talked about Gohan Son should have given me enough ease. What could be so bad about a guy who was adored by his teachers?

Mr. Banderaz came up to me with a thick textbook and the typical pieces of paper, explaining what was which. Instead of going back to his desk, he walked on behind me for the rest of the class. I didn't bother to express any interest until I heard his voice address a "Gohan". Swerving around, Mr. Banderaz was by the door of the class, talking to none other than Gohan himself.

"I know I've always allowed you to sit alone, but I had nowhere else to put the new student. I'm hoping you'll help her feel welcome and even help her whenever she needs it?"

"Of course. Don't worry about it, Mr. B." Gohan's voice caught me off guard, even though I'd heard it before. It was smooth and warm as melted caramel, unbelievably kind and understanding. I almost turned back to see his expression, but by the time I considered it, the chair next to me was pulled out, gently scraping against the carpet floor. He sat within a foot of me, rummaging through his bag. While he did this, I gently scooted over to the very edge of my seat, letting my hair fall on the side of my face.

The first thing I noticed was his scent. It was strangely sweet in comparison to other humans; it wasn't cologne, though. It was an intriguing natural essence I've never come across in the past.

Before I could brainstorm into what it could mean, the final bell rang, and Mr. Banderaz commenced the class. Gohan and I both remained quiet and without a word to say to one another.

I tried to keep myself occupied with the work of the class, but it was difficult; not only because it was William Shakespeare, but also due to the fact it's not easy to forget about the person who sat right next to me, who happened to be probably the most interesting student in the entire school.

Despite being tense throughout the whole class, the hour flew by unbelievable fast. Once Mr. Banderaz let us get ready, I had all my books stuffed in my book-bag, resting it on my lap as I waited for the bell to ring, staring forward.

"Hello."

The voice startled me as much as the gesture of it did; I dared to turn to my right and look Gohan Son in the eye, as he was already fixated in on me, his black eyes ten times the force up close.

"Hi," I peeped, clearing my throat. When he continued to stare at me, I wanted to just melt away and disappear. His stare wasn't harsh or judgmental by any means, but I never had anyone gawp at me so intensely before, as if I was the only living being in the room.

"I thought you looked familiar; you're the girl from Chan's Grocers, aren't you." It didn't sound like a question towards me; he made the statement with some manner of modesty and formality. I nodded, not at all sure what to say.

That look came back to his face; the expression I saw the day of the accident, when he observed the scene in a perplexed gaze, as if picking it apart to solve some great mystery. As soon as it came, it fluttered away.

"I'm Gohan." To my astonishment, he held his hand out, open. Not wanting to be rude, I freed my hand from my bag strap and pressed our palms together in a firm but casual handshake. As soon as my skin caressed his, a startling electric current surged up my arm. It wasn't static electricity, but something far more internal. I didn't sit to gawk about it, though; I relinquished my hand as soon as the gesture was over, my heart still fluttering from the tingling sensation that lingered in my hand.

Nodding, I sputtered awkwardly, "Nice to meet you." The bell chimed and I didn't hesitate to bolt out of my seat and for the door. I didn't dare imagine what Gohan thought of my anxious getaway; if there was one thing the social misfit in me hated more than actually making a fool of myself in front of peers was having people genuinely think I was a fool.

"You flew out of there in a hurry," Kendra laughed when she caught up with me. "Was it too much for you to handle, sitting so close to his godly awesomeness?" she snickered, poking my arm with her elbow.

"Hardly," I grumbled. "He's just…different. I haven't met anyone quite like him before." He was so many things at the same time; timid, polite, formal, yet somehow intense and brooding. But my fascination with him was hardly what Kendra predicted.

History wasn't anything special. Unfortunately, it was just as boring as any other history class. Even if the criteria were a bit different than the dull history studies back at home, it held no pull for me. Instead, I was too occupied thinking about how I was going to make it through P.E without breaking school property or injuring someone.

To avoid any overzealous reaction from Kendra in regards to my physical appearance, I changed into more casual workout clothes in a bathroom stall once in the locker-room. But I knew there'd be no hiding my arms or legs from anybody; if I wore anything more concealing than a tank-top and shorts, I'd be a walking sauna.

In the gymnasium, the four classes lined up against each of the four walls. I took my spot closest to the back as the teacher took attendance. It always begins to feel like home when the teacher mispronounces your name.

When I discovered the sport we were to play was volleyball, my hopes of finishing off the day on a good note sunk to the bottom faster and harder than the Titanic. Quickly coming up with a plan in my head, I approached our teacher as the class got set up. "Ms. Lang?"

"Mhm?" The thirty-some year old, harsh-looking athlete turned to look at me with an indifferent gaze.

"Um, I just want to tell you that I don't think I can play today. I have a sprained calf." It was pathetic, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment. Hopefully this teacher was as considerate as the others. For a moment, it looked as if she bought it.

"Do you have a doctor's note saying you are to be excused from physical activity?"

_Damn_. "Um, no. The sprain just happened when I was on my way to class; I was running down the stairs because I didn't want to be late." Ms. Lang tilted her head just a smidgen, her eyes now taking to an incredulous scrutiny.

"Would you like to be excused to the nurse so you may get a note?"

_Well, this was a stupid idea._ "No, thank you. I'll deal with it." I walked away in stiff awkwardness. Why was it that gym teachers were always the hard-asses of a school?

As the game commenced, I tried my best to stay out of the path of the ball. Adrenaline rushes and objects with the ability to fly through the air have never been a good combination for me. However, I wasn't so lucky as to avoid every hit; and even one could present a golden opportunity to have myself labeled a freak.

Someone spiked the ball over the net to the point it flew towards the back. _Just a light tap._ I chucked my folded hands forward to meet the ball. I could sigh a breath of relief when the ball went a little high, but stayed within the court.

The same couldn't be said for the second time around. By my own foolishness, while in position in the back, I allowed myself to drift off until I found a very familiar face on the second level balcony of the gym. A pack of more extreme-looking athletes jogged around above us, and I froze when my eyes found Gohan's. He was leaning on the railing, looking straight at me; he blinked and shifted when I caught him, but he made no attempt to hide or move on. Two of his friends were there beside him, also watching over the game.

I just gawked up at him, confounded as to what he could possibly find so interesting about my situation that he felt the need to watch.

In my peripheral, a white object came flying closer; I slapped the spherical thing away with a fierce slap, sending it sailing through the court and into the back of someone's head, sending him stumbling and tripping over his feet. When this person from the other court turned around, he revealed himself to be Kyle Davis, the tennis player. He looked at me, confused at first; I made the most sincere face I could, mouthing, "Sorry".

Ms. Lang sat Kyle off on the sidelines to let the pain in his head subside. I could only imagine how his head was pulsating in heated pain; out of courtesy, I walked over to him when my team had a break.

"Hey, Kyle, right?" He met my eyes with a curious demeanor, nodding. "I'm so sorry about hitting you with that ball. I told the teacher not to let me play, I tend to go a bit…overboard with sports…" When he smiled, I felt a bit forgiven, even before he verbally dismissed it.

"Don't worry about it. I've hit people a fair time with a tennis ball from getting a bit too excited with my racket."

I snickered, trying to loosen myself up. Turning away from him, I glanced up for the balcony against my better judgment, to find Gohan and his friends had moved on.

When gym was over, I hurried to the locker-room, ready to have this hectic day over with.

It was a small yet relevant relief; too small to feel stress just melt away, but enough to feel a mild relief to know I'd survived the day and could relax. On my way to my car, I caught glimpse of Gohan; his voice stood out from the crowd of hundreds like a harmonious flute in a clan of swarming bees. Across the lot, I could see him with his group, standing by their cars.

It was when I finally took my eyes off of Gohan did I see just what types of cars they were. Definitely not Cadillac or Mercedes or other absurdly top of the line luxury, sport, or muscle, but were very nice cars nonetheless. The labels I found were Toyota, Jeep, Ford, Chevy, Scion, amongst a couple others I couldn't see. Gohan's car, however, stood out to me the most, for it was a twin sister of my own car.

No, not quite a twin; a cousin. It was a black fastback like mine, but with smaller spoilers, without tinted windows or chrome wheels; the biggest difference was the hierarchy. Mine was a Shelby Cobra, his was a Saleen, most likely an S281 model from what I could tell. Not that I was getting a case of green envy, but I did wish I could go up and see the car up close. The only Saleen I've been around was my uncle's older 1993 model.

Blowing a raspberry at myself, I slid into my car and relished in the sound and feeling of its engine. I didn't belt it out until I was safe and away from the school, away from all the buses and crazy teenage drivers.

I wasn't home yet, but I was still excited to get there.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter is ridiculously long… I touched up the scenes where Jordane sees Gohan for the first time, as well as when people tell rumors about him at school, because I plan to do a prequel to Black Moon (called Black Dawn) in Gohan's perspective, from the Cell Games up to before my OC comes into the picture, and I just couldn't pass up the possibility of him causing some chaos and madness when he first started going to school—especially since it's after the Cell Games! **

**Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed this long one! **

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

**Friend/Follow me on Facebook **

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	7. 6: New Girl

**6. New Girl**

**_Gohan_**

The morning had started out so mundane, so typical; the same indifferent faces drowning me in a sea of strangers, reminding me of the daily charade I must play, as if I could ever forget. Ear-splitting commotion bounced off the walls of the dining hall, but after all these years, I'd learned to tune it out. It was one of the few things keeping me from losing my composure in this pathetic masquerade.

Before the lunch period was over, however, something stood out. It was hardly visual, however; I couldn't find the source, neither was I too concerned with finding it. It was a measly little energy source, but somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted to know what it was, just for the sake of knowing. That warrior instinct was telling me, through personal experience, to never overlook even the most trivial things. It didn't feel threatening, so I let it go. If it was something menacing, my father would have felt it by now and he'd be paying me a visit, even if it meant disrupting my school schedule.

The lunch hour flew by as quickly as it always did and my group parted in their typical corner to go to each other's classes. My English class, taught by Mr. Banderaz, was probably the most pleasant of my regimen. Sure, my passion may be sciences and mathematics, but English period was quite relaxing and comfortable.

When I crossed the threshold of the classroom, Mr. Banderaz was pacing casually around the room as he always did before class started. Once he spotted me, he strolled up hurriedly. Such behavior was a bit odd.

"There you are," he said with a patient smile. "I just wanted to let you know that you have a table partner now." The first sentence made my collected psyche scatter, simple because I was caught off-guard. Of course, I wasn't shallow enough to be upset because my teacher placed a student with me at my table when I preferred to sit alone.

Glancing behind Mr. B toward my table, I see a long, sleek curtain of black hair. From the build of the figure, it was obviously a girl, making my pulse climb a little for whatever ridiculous reason. Just my luck.

"I know I've always allowed you to sit alone, but I had nowhere else to put the new student. I'm hoping you'll help her feel welcome and even help her whenever she needs it?" I couldn't say no to Mr. Banderaz's considerate logic, so I simply smiled and assured him I would be on my best behavior—not that he's ever known me to not be on my best behavior—and I walked onward for my desk. Taking a discreet breath, I pulled out my chair and sat myself down. As I did so, out of the corner of my eye, the girl scooted over to the very edge of her chair and lightly flicked her hair so it covered that side of her face. I noticed the thin, blood-red streak flowing down the top of her scalp, closest to her face. It was also then I noticed another thing; her little gesture pushed her scent my way and it only took one whiff for my spine to tighten.

Not that I'm inclining she smelled unpleasant; in fact, she had a nice and light aroma about her, like lavender and vanilla. But it was a faint imprinted scent mixed in with another that caught my attention. This girl wasn't just a girl, she was a werewolf. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. New wolves coming into my territory was something I never adjusted to well.

As the hour dragged on, however, I soon realized this girl was different. She never shot any flirtatious or unpleasant glances my way; in fact, she kept her eyes on her textbook the entire class period, with her hair veiling her face. How odd. It'd been so long since I've met other anti-social people the sight was nearly foreign to me. I didn't know what her story was, but since this was her first day at a new school, I figured I might as well put a good note in, just for the sake of courtesy. So as the class began packing up and a low hum had enveloped the walls of the room, I took this as a good chance to greet the new girl.

"Hello." I wasn't expecting the reaction I got, as she suddenly jolted from her tense sitting position, hugging her book-bag to her chest. When she actually turned to me and I saw her face for the first time, I was intrigued to find she was rather pretty; a fine, delicate face with wide, bright brown eyes outlined in black eyeliner against pale skin.

In fact, it was when I observed her face did I realize I'd seen her before. Seeing her this close in comparison to the disorderly parking lot during our first encounter was quite enlightening.

"Hi," she squeaked, a weak voice I hardly expected from a girl like her. Right after she spoke, she cleared her throat. As she continued to sit there in complete amazement, I recalled that day at Chan's Grocery store, the energy I felt just before I stumbled upon this girl and her mother being pestered by a punk with a lead foot and a disrespectful mouth. Somehow, I couldn't seem to name her mother as the source of that energy which caused that car to flip over onto its roof. But, if it was this girl, my next concern was her level of ability and her intentions.

For the time being, I dropped it. "I thought you looked familiar; you're the girl from Chan's Grocers, aren't you." The girl blinked and nodded wordlessly, her clear eyes wary and searching mine. So she likes to read people, eh? Well, too bad for her, I had become an expert at remaining un-readable, even to my own friends.

"I'm Gohan." I held my hand out in a formal gesture, hoping I wasn't going to give the girl the wrong impression. When her hand timidly wrapped itself against mine, I felt a slight jump from her. Any normal person—werewolf, even—would only feel the extra firmness of my handshake and dismiss it as trivial; I could tell by this girl's reaction she felt the electric current of my life energy that coursed through my blood twenty-four seven.

"Nice to meet you," she spoke more clearly, revealing a firmer, tomboy's tone. Nodding, I was about to turn back in my seat and leave her be, but just then the bell rang and she launched herself from that chair, hustling out of the room. I stared after her, my brows slightly cocked in confusion. She certainly was an odd one. Then again, who was I to talk?

It would turn out this wouldn't be the last I'd see of this girl. While lazily jogging the rounds in the upper level of the gym while my other classmates trudged along tiredly, I caught a glimpse of what was happening in the lower level. I slowed to a stop by the railing when the black and red hair caught my eye, watching the new girl as she simply stood in her position of the volleyball court. She appeared to be anxious; her arms were tight at her sides, her face twisted in a worried frown.

I felt a presence slow down and stop beside me. "What's up?" Vince glanced in the direction I was staring off to, humming once he found the reason. "Are you actually staring at a girl?"

"Say what?" Ian dropped by, stopping by the opposite side of me and leaning over the rail. "Did I hear you say our Gohan is checking out a girl?"

I rolled my eyes, keeping an annoyed growl locked in my throat. "I'm not 'checking her out'."

"Who is she?"

"The new girl everyone's been buzzing about." Despite this school's large student body, it didn't take long for gossip to travel. "She's in my English class."

"She's definitely interesting. But if I didn't know any better, I'd say she looks like she would rather be anywhere else but here," Vince observed, tilting his head as the girl tried her best to avoid having to spike the ball. The first few times she did spike it, however, nothing went wrong; the ball went a bit higher than normal, but that simply proved she had athletic skill. Well, that and her bare arms. Unlike me, who had to bear wearing longer-sleeved shirts to hide the small scars I'd won from battles with other werewolves and whatnot, this new girl could indulge in more comfortable athletic wear such as a tank top.

The next spike she delivered was rather careless; the ball was sent hurdling so high, it clipped one of the lights on the ceiling.

"Whoa," Vince uttered.

"Yeah, not bad for a little wee human," Ian chortled, impressed.

"She's not human," I said quietly. "She's one of us."

"How could you tell?" A werewolf's sense of smell worked wonders, but there were some quirks. Unless you come across a scent you recognize, you won't easily pick up a stranger's scent from a distance to tell what species they are. A school gym filled with teenage sweat, rubber, and iron weights certainly was not a good environment to pick up such a delicate scent of one's own kin.

"Mr. B sat her next to me, at my table." Vince laughed at my elaboration.

"Well, that's interesting," Ian pondered.

I swore in the privacy of my conscience when Jordane's eyes suddenly flashed toward us, immediately locking on me. Instinct told me to move along, to shun away from her line of sight, but I stood my ground, remaining at a slouch over the railing. She narrowed her eyes in bewildered scrutiny. It was as if we were challenging each other with our stares, daring the other to look away first or keep gawping.

A white little dot came careening through the air for her, and she snapped her attention for it just in time to fling her arm at the volleyball and send it flying into someone's head. The collision of thick leather hide with flesh-covered bone was impressive, and the ball ricocheted off the person's skull.

"Whoa-ho!" Vince, Ian, and I each uttered groans that were half-laughter. I wouldn't deny, that looked—and sounded—like it hurt like hell. When the person turned around and revealed himself as none other than Kyle Davis, I took my reserved sympathy and tossed it out the window.

"Oh, no, don't do it!" Ian pleaded when Jordane actually walked for Kyle on the sidelines, and she proceeded to apologize to him. The sympathetic smile she gave him was too warm for her own good.

_You better watch it, new girl. That kid's like a leech. _By the twinkling smirk Kyle returned her, the guys and I knew the seeds to a new, unhealthy fixation were planted in Kyle Davis' mind.

Blinking, I decided to get back to my activities, despite the desire and curiosity to sit and observe this new girl further, as to get a better clue into who—or what—she was. That would be something better done free from the scrutiny of my friends and strangers alike.

"Hey there, son!" my father greeted me as I exited my car. He continued to do stretches and warm-ups in the spacious patch of grass in front of our house, where I could count on finding him every afternoon I came home from school; like clockwork.

"How was school today?"

"Interesting," I answered honestly, sitting at the wooden picnic table just off to the side of the front door. My father never heard me use such a word to describe my day at school; he quirked his head over to me with curious eyes.

"Really now? Why, what happened?"

"There's a new kid; another werewolf, with an interesting life energy as well." I didn't know how vague or detailed I wanted to get describing this girl; knowing the people around me as I do, I knew if I gave them the wrong information or impression, I'd never hear the end of it—particularly from my hovering, over-ecstatic mother. "Have you been sensing anything lately?"

My father shook his head. "Nawh. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged dismissively. "Just asking." Without warning, he stopped his exercises and focused on me with a more serious demeanor.

"Was this werewolf threatening to you?"

"No." That was all the information my father needed to ease his slightly stirred mind. As long as something wasn't threatening the well-being of the earth or our family, he could have cared less.

Once inside the sanctuary of my bedroom, I whizzed through my homework the same as always, the fragrance of light mint and the aroma of my mother's mouth-watering cooking swathing the house.

Even in my mix-matched family of werewolves and Saiyans, things were actually quite mundane and uneventful. Well, unless my mother got upset, but thankfully that's only once in a blue moon these days.

In precious times of peace, I often found myself crazy enough to wish something interesting and new would happen; grudgingly enough, that "something" would be a new enemy intent on taking revenge on my father, or just wanted to destroy everything in their path to satisfy their desire for genocide.

Perhaps this was what I was doomed to have as "something new and interesting" happening in my life. Since I'm an alien, I had just as abnormal of a life. Sighing hopelessly, I tapped my pencil on my desk.

_You know it does you no good to think like that_, I told myself. Seriously, I knew better than to let my mind wander to possibilities and desires for a semi-normal life. Everything had always been black and white for the first sixteen years of my existence; why the hell should it change now?

"_We begin our broadcast with breaking news tonight_. _The body found earlier today in Sinue Park has been identified as Dina Yuki, a seventeen-year-old student from Kitsip Heights High School,_" the TV blared, making me turn my head away from my plate. "_This is the third body in the past six months that has been found and now police have confirmed they believe it to be the work of a serial killer_." The camera cut away from the newswoman and to an interview with the chief of police, who said they've identified a pattern and M.O. with all three cases. The girl, like the previous two, went to my high-school, between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. Their bodies were all found in rural areas, slashed and mauled at the throat; upon further examination it was discovered they were either raped or had rough sex before they were killed. And yet, none of their friends knew who they could have gone with and have never known the girls to go anywhere near the woods.

Unlike the police, I knew the culprit responsible.

"May I be excused?" I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin. I could see the look on my mother's face; she knew what I felt obligated to do.

"Of course," she replied softly, shouting for me to be careful as I strode out the door. I didn't bother going to my car; I took to the air, rocketing over my mountain property, having a pretty good idea as to where I would find this killer.

Once I arrived closer to town, I sought a local bar and grill just outside the country roads. I went around the back of the alleyway, wanting to see if maybe Chase was out smoking before taking my chances in getting things messy inside.

Just as I predicted, I could see Chase's slumped figure sitting on a stack of empty cartons, taking puffs of his foul-smelling cigarette. I didn't waste any time on being vigilant; in two enhanced steps I was right behind him, yanking on his leather jacket and planting him up against the building's wall.

"How many times do I have to bash your head in to make you stop?" I hissed in his ear, contempt thick in my voice. Understanding or patience for people like Chase Larkman wasn't a part of my disposition.

Managing a weak, grunted chuckle, Chase didn't attempt to resist my hold; after all this time, he knew struggling to get free from my grasp was futile. "I don't have to explain myself to you," he snarled. I threw him off to the side and he went stumbling, but he quickly regained his balance and stared me down. He glanced down with arrogant blue eyes at the broken cigarette lying on the ground. "You owe me a new pack of cigs; that was my last one," he noted casually, as if my presence could have affected him less.

"Are you honestly stupid enough to think I won't hear about what happens in my own territory—?"

"So what if you do?" Chase scoffed. "What makes you think I can take you seriously anyways? You may be this territory's alpha, but you're not _my_ alpha."

My teeth ground together as I glared at my rival with utter hatred and spite. However, he did have a valid point. All I've ever done was knock him around a few times, but I should have known after the second time it wouldn't have taught him a lesson. I never had as much trouble with any other werewolf as I did with Chase. In most cases, fur just flew and hides merited a few cuts from teeth and claws, but I've never had to beat someone who wasn't an all-powerful space tyrant within an inch of their life.

It was frustrating and made it all the more difficult for me to respect myself. I hated using violence to resolve matters, even if it was the only way. In the past couple of years, I've learned to just accept it as a way of life; as an alpha of my own territory I had the right and rank to beat the tail of any other wolf who came trotting along on my land. Killing someone as a result of such behavior hadn't been marked on my record yet, and I would have liked for it to stay that way.

From the looks of things now, that goal seemed hardly realistic.

"If I hear of one more murdered girl, I will kill you." There was no fault to my declaration; no shaky uncertainty, no involuntary twitch of my brow. And yet, Chase saw right through me.

"You sure your conscience can handle having any more blood on your muzzle?" I wanted to slap the grin off his face—and I could, with a swift swipe of my talons—but I resisted the urge. A fight didn't need to be started here.

"One more strike and your neck is mine," I growled one final time, striding down the alleyway and returning to the skies when out of sight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, we're getting into some more Gohan territory here. I do hope I am writing him in a decent narrative; obviously he is not entirely the same character as Akira Toriyama created—he's a little rougher around the edges, been around the block a few times, and though wiser than kids his age, he is still a teenager—but I try to stick to the roots of the character's original personality. Also, hopefully I don't make him and Jordane sound alike…I don't want their narratives to sound so similar that my readers will have to go back to the header and check to see which character they're reading from… **

**I don't think it's just being a werewolf that makes him a little tougher, but just the mere fact that he's grown up to adapt and live in the particular environment I've established. He's a secret protector of the city in terms of keeping rogue werewolves (and, later, vampires) in line, and the protector of the earth on a larger scale when called for. I hope the roughness isn't a turn off for any die-hard Gohan fans…I love this kid in the original anime/manga, but hey I can't help but take my own creative liberties with him ^^'**

**Please review!**

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

**Friend/Follow me on Facebook **

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	8. 7: Another Saiyan?

**7. Another Saiyan?**

**April**

**_Gohan_**

A week; she'd been here one full week already. Most people would have fallen under my radar by then but with this new girl, nothing was normal. She kept finding ways to pop up in my day; hardly intentional, I think, but it was beginning to get on my nerves at how she so easily distracted me from thought and action.

Yes, this Jordane Teague was undeniably interesting, right from the moment I saw her in the parking lot of Chan's. Even just sitting beside me in class, energy brimmed and pulsed from her more than any other human being or wolf-kind.

My anxiety over her ability to adapt as a werewolf in a new territory soon obliterated to my curiosity of her being as a whole. The energy she was emitting was too much to be coming from her werewolf genes alone. It wasn't exuberantly powerful by any means, but still more potent than any other human life force. I was confused when she didn't seem to acknowledge me at all; being as high in the Saiyan hierarchy as I was, another who had the ability to sense life force and power levels would certainly take note to my signature.

I knew the girl had to feel an inkling of something, though; she was just as awkward and uncomfortable around me as I was around her. At least the feeling to avoid each other was mutual; that makes one less girl I'd have to deal with chasing after me.

As the class poured out at the bell, I casually walked up to Mr. Banderaz's desk and gently slid my paper into the collection box. As always, he met my face with a smile of gratitude. "Good job. I can always count on at least one student to get their assignment done." His remark made me smile, but before I could turn away, he spoke again. "How are things, Gohan?"

I shrugged. "All right, I suppose."

"Have you and Ms. Teague gotten acquainted yet?" I'm not sure why my breath caught when he mentioned Jordane Teague. It was foolish.

"Very lightly," I noted, sticking my hand in my jeans pocket while the other adjusted my book-bag strap. "We haven't gotten to know each other outside of class."

"Ah, I see. I would ask her if she bothers you or makes you uncomfortable to the point it'll affect your schoolwork, but…" Mr. Banderaz glanced down at the turned-in paper with a chuckle. "I know you like to work alone and it's why I really appreciate you adjusting for this new student. From what I've been able to gather, she's had a bit of a rough time getting here."

As he typed some random notes into his computer, my curiosity continued to increase to the point I couldn't help myself. "How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, from what I've gathered from her file and what her mother told me when we had a parent-teacher conference, she was kind of an introvert back in Washington. According to her school record, she has good grades, but also a couple detentions and advisories on her, for getting in fights."

I instinctively raised a brow. A quiet girl like her, getting in fist-fights at school? It was hard to imagine. Then again, I should've known better than to judge a book by its cover; I should be prime example of that.

Mr. Banderaz seemed to feel the same about Jordane as well. "I don't see how, though. Aside from the testimony of her mother that she's a good kid, she seems very quiet and docile, and quite respectful, too." He stroked his five o' clock shadow thoughtfully. "That's why I thought you two would be a good table pair, aside from the fact your table was the only seat open. Since you've always been a sort of outcast yourself, I thought you two would find something to get along with each other."

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, nodding. Not that I necessarily felt guilty for pushing away the girl up to now, I was more discomforted with the sort of responsibility Mr. Banderaz left on my shoulders. I still didn't know who this girl was or furthermore what she was; I hated diving into something not knowing just what it was I'm getting myself into. I'd introduced myself to her on her first day out of common courtesy; not any interest or desire to get to know her.

My mind managed to stay cloud-free for the remainder of the day, until P.E. My class headed for the outdoor weight-lifting court, while Jordane's class surrounded us on the track jogging their rounds.

After all these years, restraining myself while weight-lifting was as easy as walking, even when my attention was dispersed elsewhere—watching Jordane jog the trails.

"Gohan…Gohan!" Vince snapped his fingers, like a magician, bringing me out of my trance. "You seem a bit distracted," he murmured.

"I was just lost in thought," I mumbled, absent-mindedly watching Jordane and Kendra jogging together.

"Uh-huh. You've been 'lost in thought' quite often as of late."

I rolled my eyes, returning to my bench presses. "It's not like that. The new girl is just too interesting. Like, a strange kind of interesting. I think I know the answer, but I'm not sure…" Vince stood above me, pretending to be my spotter.

"I remember you saying she had an abnormal life force. You think maybe she's like Krillin, Tien, or Yamcha?"

"It'd make sense."

"Why do I feel a 'but' coming?"

I easily tossed the dumbbell back up on the rack as if it were light as a pencil. "I just have this feeling she's stronger than all three of them. Back at Chan's grocers, that energy she exerted towards that car skyrocketed so high and so fast, I honestly thought we were under attack or something. Throughout the days since she's been here, her energy drops and climbs radically, as if she doesn't know how to control it."

Even from across the campus, I could seek out her energy signal; in the mornings, her energy would be an ultimate low. During the middle of the day, which I discovered through observation was her art class, her energy is very calm and managed. Towards lunchtime, her energy climbed, as if she was dealing with some sort of stress. Then again, with select girls in Kendra's group, I couldn't blame her –especially with the way Lacey Genero was.

Finally, her energy was at its highest from English class onward –whenever she was around me. I could have cared less if she was attracted to me in any way, but I didn't think that's the reason she's so apprehensive around me. I suspected she could feel it, too; especially that first day when I shook her hand. She felt the current of energy between us just as I had. Judging by her reaction, though, she wasn't used to such happenings.

"Has the S word crossed your mind?" Vince asked.

"It has," I admitted carefully. "But there's just one issue with that… If she is even at least a partial Saiyan, she has to have a full-blooded parent—a parent we haven't sensed on this earth at all, not to mention we've never sensed _her _until now."

As I gazed back out to the girls, I allowed a miniscule smirk to form on my lips as I heard Kendra call protests out to Jordane as she rocketed ahead of her, even at just a mild and flawless jogging gait. She slowed down and waited for Kendra to catch up, but I could tell even from as far as I was that she wanted to run without restraint. It was a sensation all us werewolves shared. We loved nothing more than to run wild and without purpose, to lose ourselves in the bliss and ecstasy of such freedom.

The girl was just too much of a mystery. I loathed such enigmas; no matter how hard I brainstormed and looked for pieces to the puzzle, I could never make anything fit.

"Well, there is one way you can get the answer you're looking for and put this whole mystery to bed."

Looking at Vince in genuine curiosity, I raised a brow. "How?"

He smirked. "Talk to her."

Clueless, I shrugged. "I have talked to her."

"No, you _introduced_ yourself to her. I mean, actually _talk_ to her; you know, discuss your hobbies, your favorite foods, what you love, what you hate—whatever, and then you can ask her questions about her genetic makeup, and then bam! No more mystery to bruise that brilliant noggin of yours." He said this so mockingly blasé, it actually irritated me.

"How about not," I grumbled.

"Aw, come on. You've got to be curious. You don't find her even just a little bit attractive?"

I continued to silently glare at my best friend, who brandished a sharp grin even after he'd given up his teasing.

I wasn't afraid to agree that a girl was pretty or beautiful, but I never cared to make any note of such a detail unless encouraged by outward influence. With Jordane, I didn't ever not notice her, so neither could I deny that she was pretty, but not like most girls I've seen, with their layers of make-up and unspoken feminine etiquette in the way they acted; in fact, "pretty" was an unsuitable word to describe Jordane. As much as I didn't want to give him the credit, Vince's playful hunch was rather irrefutable; she was attractive, but the attraction wasn't of sexual or lustful nature. She was rather plain, and yet, somehow she was still striking and unforgettable. As to how that could make sense was beyond me.

It was her attitude that was the most interesting to me, not her looks. There was something in her eyes, like she was always taut with restraint, and yet at the same time she appeared enervated, as if going on about her ordinary day was slowly killing something inside of her—the very thing she was restraining, perhaps.

I certainly knew a thing or two about that sort of struggle.

Upon arriving at home, I smiled as I laid eyes on green pastures. I knew Mom and Dad would see I was home once they heard me with the horses, so I didn't bother going inside to announce my arrival. Giving a shrill whistle as I approached the main paddock, two large black stallions each raised their heads in my direction; one whinnied back to me in response, charging for me. His powerful gait could be felt beneath me in the earth as it protested under the wrath of his hoof-beats. The mighty creature came to a blunt halt just feet from me and my hand instinctively reached out to stroke his muzzle.

The black Arab followed me into the barn and showed no protests against me tying him. I had three other horses all tied up in front of their stalls, waiting for their turn.

Many who knew my family's martial arts background were often surprised to know we're also an equestrian family, but only of casual lifestyle. The only exception to our secluded lives was when shows rolled around, something I did merely for extra-curricular activity. My mother, being a princess back in the day, used to show her royal horses when she was younger; my father was hardly a showman, either, so I was the only one in my family who participated in competitions. My little brother Goten was just barely old enough to compete even in basic 4-H programs.

These horses weren't just horses, however. If there are werewolves, other mythical creatures surely are real, yes? Well, that includes vampires, ghouls…and unicorns. Sadly, though, pure-blooded unicorns –Alicorns –were on the border-line of extinction, so for centuries the smallest trace of them had been preserved in half-blood crosses referred to as Faux Unicorns. They are unicorns with only a dusting of magic and a horn which is invisible to those who don't believe in such creatures. To the everyday folk, they appear to be as perfectly normal as the average equine. The only differences were the excessive height beyond typical breed standards and greater stamina and strength. Faux Unicorns often left the public dumbfounded when they live to be over sixty years of age when most horses only live to be thirty. That's because of their unique aging system; since pure-bred Alicorns were immortal, Faux unicorns inherited a slow-aging gene which makes them age one year for every six human years.

My horse Lightning was over seventeen hands high, yet he was full-blooded Arab aside from the unicorn blood. Typically, Arabs don't exceed sixteen hands, if that. I'd adopted and raised him from the time he was a yearling colt and I was only a child. Because of a mutual bond we shared, Lightning's loyalty was to me ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. He hated being ridden by anyone else, but I've trained him to tolerate being led and groomed by others whenever I can't be around.

My father's horse Caesar was truly a sight to behold, as all Friesian horses were. Despite being intact, Caesar was one of the most laid-back, friendly stallions you could meet. I remembered running around with him in his paddock when I was a small child and all he would do was follow me at a slow, gallant trot. My mother screamed at my father to make sure I didn't get trampled and always told him to never leave me alone in the paddocks with the horses. He surely didn't fit his registered name Royal Payne, but he earned that name from my mother back when she and my father were first together; Caesar liked to test her patience and push her around, step on her feet, or often refuse to be cared for by anyone else other than my father or me. It was quiet amusing.

Dusty was our little red chestnut Arabian mare; although standing at an impressive sixteen hands, she was the smallest Faux in our barn. She came into the family as Caesar and Lightning did, by being rescued. She conveniently became my mother's horse, but even more so she was an all-around good family horse. Her son, Storm was sired by Caesar. Half Arab, half Friesian with an exotic seal brown coat color. He was my training project when I was younger and would be reserved for my brother Goten's once he got older.

Four horses, all with their own personalities and with their own special places in my family's hearts. It wouldn't be home without them.

The stiff brush I held in my hand glided across Lightning's dark, fluffy winter coat. Most competitors clipped and shaved their horse's winter coats to make them look more presentable, but I preferred to keep my horses all natural.

These competitions at the Shin-Tao Fairgrounds were very high-profile; breeders, stables, and competitors from around the world came here to compete and show their horses. It was an enjoyable environment to be in most of the time, but there were some people who had the business to call themselves horsemen, yet they took the life of showing and competing far too seriously. Just in the past three years, the Shin-Tao equine facility had problems with performance-enhancing drugs for horses, soring, and abused and overworked horses; two had to be put down in the past year due to fatal injuries or bodily illness brought upon by being pushed beyond their limit.

What pride there was in breaking such magnificent animals, I couldn't possibly fathom.

Grooming all four horses thoroughly took a good two hours, but the end result was worth it, even once Lightning pawed at the ground in his paddock and lied down to roll in the dirt. The sight made me smile. Nothing made him feel better than to get a good role in after being brushed down.

* * *

><p>I'd been promising Dad and Krillin I'd go training with them for months. In the past two years I've gone my own way from my father and the rest of the Z-warriors. They were still my friends, but since they'd all developed the habit of ignoring each other in times of peace, I didn't want to bother with chasing them all down like a helpless child.<p>

But it had been since the tournament last year since my dad and I trained together; another year on top of that since we'd trained with any of our friends.

_You'll enjoy it_, I told myself as I walked with Dad and the others into the private Capsule Corp. gymnasium. It was a gymnasium available only to career athletes; most of the time it was just me and select few sportsman or martial artists who hadn't joined up with Hercule Satan's dojo.

"It's not fair, I tell ya," Krillin went on, punching my arm. "It's a déjà vu from when I was growing up with your dad; one day he's the same size as me and the next he's a freakin' giant! When will you stop growing?"

I shrugged. "Not my fault tall genes run in the family." Dad patted my back with a firm but friendly hand. Upon entering our designated training area of choice –a room blanketed with floor mats and punching bags –we found it empty. A large, black mesh curtain separated the large sparring area from the punching bags. I heard a small sound but figured it was just Krillin horsing around so I went back to slipping on my gi uniform. The noises came again; how could I have mistaken the room for empty when it obviously had at least one occupant?

Krillin, being the Curious George he was, skipped over to the curtain and peered around it to the other side. "Whoa, Gohan, you should see the way this lil' girl is beating away at this punching bag." He said this quietly enough to wear it wouldn't draw attention from the particular party but loud enough for me to pick up clearly with my wolf-enhanced hearing.

I didn't even need to get up to find out who it was; I sat there stunned at the life force I was picking up. _No way… It can't be her._ Nevertheless I jumped behind Krillin and peeked around the mesh screen to find a lean feminine figure hurling merciless blows at a punching bag. The long black hair with the red streak pulled back in a ponytail was all I needed to determine her identity.

"Hmm," I hummed, trying to act disinterested, returning to my gear.

"You don't see female martial artists that much anymore, especially that young," Dad mused. I was stunned by the tone in his voice; he was obviously impressed, for I knew he could sense Jordane's abnormally high life force as well.

"You're forgetting Hercule's daughter," Krillin mentioned with a mediocre laugh. The mention of Videl Satan's name didn't faze me at all. From what little I've conversed with her at tournaments, she had a strong competitive drive and determination to live up to her father's name. It's just too bad her father's name was mud as far as I'm concerned. If it weren't for the fact she was Hercule's daughter, my mother would have had us in an arranged marriage by now, just for the money. I could only stand the girl to a certain extent, as I could with any other human. She was too much on the rich-and-spoiled side of the fence for my taste.

"She almost looks as if she could be having a bit of a bad day," Krillin tittered, "She's going away at that punching bag like it's her worst enemy."

"I almost want to go up and meet her, see if she's interested in competing in the Martial Arts Tournament. It'd be interesting if we'd see her there; heck, she could even be a good pupil!" I jerked my head up at my father's declaration, stunned. He'd seriously take a girl out from the streets and make her his pupil? We _never_ took pupils; martial arts has only ever been a family-oriented tradition for us. But it was obvious in my father's normally passive face; he could sense there was something abnormal about Jordane, to the point it was impossible to ignore.

Finally, it hit me. I'd been racking my brain for answers as to just what else this girl was. I just wrote her off as a human like Tienshinhan, Yamcha, or Krillin, and was just exceptionally gifted, but even those three friends of mine were normal once. It'd taken them years –decades –to get to their present levels, levels Jordane's spirit indicated she's far above. It would make no sense if she worked so hard to achieve such a level, yet she'd know nothing of spirit-sensing, control, or dispersion of her energy.

I snapped my thoughts dead in their tracks, but somehow that didn't stop the word from echoing in my mind: _Saiyan_.

I immediately recalled what I had said to Vince, how the only reason I diverted from the Saiyan theory was how we never sensed another Saiyan—either full or half—on this planet outside of our small circle. It seemed impossible, but what other answer was there?

"Gohan?" I almost jumped a foot in the air upon my name suddenly jumping into my ears.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to spar with us or what?" Dad asked, standing above me. Just then, the punching sounds and huffs from the other side of the room disappeared; a heavy door opened, its hinges screeching in protest as it fell back and latched shut.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'll admit, I think I dragged this whole Saiyan-mystery-reveal thing a little longer than what was necessary… and I wish I had come up with a more epic, memorable moment for Gohan to realize Jordane is a Saiyan other than just watching her in the gym and recounting her abnormally large life force...this is what happens when I basically force scenes out without really giving much brainstorm… **

**The horse stuff…you can go ahead and think I'm weird HAHA. Sorry, but it's always been that way in my DBZ universe, Gohan and his parents have always had horses/faux unicorns (though back in the old days, it was real ridiculous lol). I myself am passionate about horses and that comes out in my writing whether I like it to or not xD Plus, it's another way Gohan and my OC bond in later chapters…hehe. Hope you enjoyed this chappie!**

**- J**

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	9. 8: New Friends, Maybe?

**8. New Friends… Maybe?**

**_Jordane_**

The next day I went to school with a load off my shoulders. It must have been from my exuberant workout at the gym yesterday. I enjoyed letting loose in that local gym, which was surprising. I usually hated using any space that was public –gymnasiums, swimming pools, etcetera –but I needed to be someplace where Mom wouldn't come barging in and be concerned about my stress level.

I groaned when our Biology teacher announced he'd split us into groups for a lab. Needless to say, anything that required group participation wasn't something I was very fond of, even if it involved only me and one other person.

I stiffly moved to the other side of the room, where my lab partner met me at a black-topped counter. It was the fiery red-head, Renea Rose –a.k.a., Gohan's best friend. Just as she did when we met at the grocery store, she smiled warmly, and we started our lab.

The hour dragged on painfully; of course, looking over at the clock every five minutes didn't help that effect, either. Renea and I only exchanged words in regards to our assignment, but she eventually changed that.

"How've you been liking it here?" she asked casually, as if we'd spoken a dozen times before. I tried not to act so tense, so I gave a shrug of acknowledgment.

"So far, it's okay."

"I get what you're going through," Renea said, looking at me with a kind smile. Her statement caught me off guard.

"You do?"

"Mhm. I was born in the States and lived there for a majority of my childhood before moving here when I was ten. My dad was working in a hospital for someone else, but he wanted to upgrade, start his own hospital." Her petite fingers gracefully held her pen as she scribbled notes on our assignment sheet; she continued talking. "I didn't have very many friends back there, but it was hard leaving a majority of my family back in New York. But then I met everyone here and, I don't know, this place just grew on me." Setting her blue-ink pen down, she leaned against the counter, eyes on me.

Nodding, I tried to think of things to say that wouldn't make me sound like an idiot; I tended to give people too much personal information to the point I couldn't help but feel they're thinking, "Jeez don't you know how to summarize? I didn't ask for your whole sob-story".

"Well, I did leave a lot of friends back in Washington, and not to mention everything I've ever grown to love and be familiar with. There are certain similarities here, but it's just…so different at the same time."

Renea nodded. "New places are like that, especially when you move a whole continent away," she chortled empathetically. "So, tell me fellow wolf-girl, do you really enjoy hanging out with humans all the time, or do you just pretend to?"

My head jerked in her direction to find an amused yet fond smile on her face. So she's a werewolf; it wasn't too surprising to me, when I took a moment to think it over. I should have been able to figure it out, though no two wolves smelled the same right down to a certain fragrance, but there was a hue in a werewolf's natural body scent that made them stand out from humans.

I answered her question. "Well, I don't mind hanging out with Kendra and the others. All of my friends back at home were human."

"Oh really? And they knew what you were?"

"Mhm."

"That's neat," Renea expressed, sounding genuinely impressed. "It's always good to have friends like that." I nodded in total agreement, the tension I'd had all morning dissipating. "You know, you'd be more than welcome to join our pack for a movie or something. I'm sure the others wouldn't mind having a new face."

Renea's invitation flustered me a little. I was never really up for meeting new people, but in this particular situation, there was another reason why I was hesitant. "Um, you sure your alpha won't mind?" For some reason, I couldn't say his name.

"Oh, Gohan?" Renea corrected quietly, as if she knew the kind of attention that'd be drawn to our conversation if anybody heard his name. "He wouldn't mind."

"Sorry, but that doesn't make me feel any more comfortable," I tittered nervously. Instead of being offended, Renea giggled with me.

"I know, Gohan looks real somber and almost intimidating, but really that couldn't be any more different than who he really is. He has his own little personas for different parts of his life; acting like a brilliant but secluded and anti-social hard-ass is only a role he takes on for school. Just trust me; I've known him for five years and the kid is like a little brother to me. He may look like a big and rugged Pit-bull on the outside, but once you get to know him, you'll see that on the inside he's really just a fluffy little Pomeranian you just wanna squeeze." I laughed at Renea's analogy, trying to imagine such an idea. Somehow, it only managed to make me laugh, but didn't bring much comfort or confidence about Gohan's real character. But who was I to judge a book by its cover?

"Thanks for the input," I said anyways, giggling. Thanks to Renea's genius and my fast note-taking, we were able to finish the lab a good half-hour before class was over. We spent that free time sitting at her desk talking about miscellaneous things. I was surprised how quickly I came to like her. She was very mild-mannered and understanding, but also fun and wise-cracking. Even when she confessed she was a bit of a fashionista—despite having a tomboy edge to her personality—I still found her interesting. She did have a very good sense of style; a bit feminine, with the right dose of class, yet with a touch of punk-like influence. An artist to her own sense, she made her own clothes and loved to design. Just as she looked through my sketchbook, I looked through hers, filled with pages of lanky, scribbled models clad in detailed, tasteful clothing.

Usually, fashion wasn't my thing, but her illustrations were very pleasing to the eye. There were several samples I liked and she offered to make me something of my choice. I was delighted but told her I'd get back to her on it sometime.

Having P.E. as the final class of the day was something I had come to have mixed feelings about. I didn't look forward to seeing my P.E. teacher at all; I didn't look forward to any potential slip-ups I may have during exercises, and I didn't look forward to losing my cool whenever I laid eyes on Gohan.

Kickball was the game today; a game I would have enjoyed playing with my friends or by myself, but a game I dreaded playing with my peers. My first turn was disastrous. I'd been so hyped to get the day over with I didn't watch my energy; the careless tap I gave to the ball sent it skyrocketing to the gymnasium ceiling, ricocheted off a large light, and into the head of one of the keepers.

My eyes clutched shut; I went ahead and walked to the back of the line. Inevitably, I found Gohan staring at me from across the gym, almost in somber amusement yet he still seemed buried in enigma or fascination. Even once he saw me gazing as intently at him as he was at me, he didn't withdraw his eyes.

_You've got some guts. Do you think people don't mind when you just stare at them?_ Then again, I couldn't help but feel he didn't treat everyone else the same as he did me. He still kept to himself, but I often caught him gazing over in my direction more than once; very seldom would he turn away if we locked eyes. He seemed to really pay strict attention in P.E., whereas in English class, he didn't pay one spec of attention on anything else other than the book in front of him.

He was such a damn enigma it drove me insane. I wasn't one to just leave any mystery unsolved; infallibly I always drive myself in mad spirals trying to grasp any pieces to fit to the puzzle.

When it came to Gohan, I was having the worst luck sorting out his puzzle.

* * *

><p>Friday would mark my second week working at the stables. It wouldn't matter how many weeks or months or even years I'd spend here; I would never cease to come to work with a smile on my face, I don't think. Every day, it seemed I met new horses. Then again, the main stable was huge with countless number of aisles and stalls. It was the stallion stable, however, that had all the real beauties. I couldn't wait for Friday, because my training would be over and I could go apply for work in that stable as well.<p>

"Good afternoon, Jordane," a husky man greeted me, complete with a cowboy hat, chaps, and all. I'd never thought I'd find a cowboy in these parts of the world.

"Hello, Thom," I greeted back, tapping the soles of my western boots on the asphalt aisle. Thom was one of the few owners in the barn who had bothered to be my acquaintance; his horse, a gorgeous bay pinto mare, was a sweetheart. Even after my shifts were over, I tended to linger for an hour or more. There wasn't much for me to do at home other than schoolwork, and I always had just the right amount of energy to exert on just that before going to bed.

Thom allowed me to take his pinto mare for a ride in the round pen. It felt so good to be on a horse again, but I still felt quite restricted. This wasn't my horse to use up. Ziggy loved to run his heart out and I loved to be on his back while he did it, hence why I had enrolled in a local equestrian drill team back in Washington. Running. I had to run with a horse.

Riding Thom's horse was a nice treat, nonetheless. The natural sway of her walking gait melted away all of my stress and thoughts that had been lingering on my mind all day. Then I saw the horse I've been dying to see in the flesh. I stopped Thom's horse dead by the panel gate to get a better look at the large black Friesian stallion who was being led back from the arena. He had no tack on him other than a rope halter. Great Luna, that horse was beautiful! His mane and tail weren't near as long as I was accustomed to seeing in pictures, but they were still wavy, silken curtains customary of the breed. The feathering on his legs was trimmed neatly and flowed right down to solid black hooves. That signature black as night coat glistened and gleamed in the stadium lights shining through the dusk.

Thom's chuckling interrupted my daydreaming. "A beauty, isn't he?"

"Yes," I sighed, snapping picture after picture with my larger Nikon camera, instead of my pocket-sized digital camera. It was then I noticed the man leading the dream horse; he was a tall guy with whacked-out black hair. Having to blink twice to be sure I wasn't seeing things, his hair was spiked almost unnaturally. I couldn't believe someone in the horse world would style their hair like that.

Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar to me, though I couldn't put my finger on it exactly. Was it common around here for people to have black hair and black eyes…?

"Yes, the Sons have some good-looking horses on their hands. Very respectable people, they are."

"Oh yeah?" It took me a minute to relay Thom's words in my mind. "Wait, did you say Sons?"

"Mhm."

_Nah, it can't be. Son can be a common name…_ "Would this family happen to include someone named Gohan?"

Thom blinked and nodded. "Actually, yes. The couple's name is Goku and Chichi; their eldest son is named Gohan. Their youngest, Goten, comes here but only for the kids shows. He's still a beginner, the funny lil' tyke."

What the hell is it with this being such a small world? I would figure big cities equal the less likely chance of running into people you know, especially in more than one place. I didn't know what I was more flustered about; the fact I was running into someone so often, or if I just discovered Son Gohan and I have something very significant in common: horses.

I left Thom with his horse and got closer to where the Sons were with their Friesian, at a cross-tie grooming and tacking station. I put aside my shyness and walked up to them, getting my camera ready.

"Excuse me?" I asked feebly, waiting for either the man or woman's face to turn to me. Both of them did.

"Yes?" Goku Son inquired, face open and warm. I couldn't help comparing his demeanor to his son's; they appeared to be opposites.

"Um, I was just wondering if I could take some photos of your Friesian. It's the first time I've seen one in person and I would just love to use him as a model for photography." I half-expected them to say no. Thankfully, people in this city haven't quite disappointed me yet.

"Of course you can!" Goku granted happily, a large smile on his face. His wife also had a smile as she continued to clean a small English saddle. Nodding in thanks, I began to snap away shot after shot of the horse's face and body. I found he had quite the personality, as he kept reaching for my camera, wanting to sniff at it. He didn't show any signs of discomfort with having me around, which I was glad for.

"He's beautiful," I said once Goku had granted me permission to pet him. I rubbed all along his muscular neck, relishing the feeling of his silken short fur.

"Thank you," Goku chirped, patting the stallion on the quarters. "His name is Caesar."

"Or as I like to call him, Royal Payne," his wife bantered, rubbing the stallion's mouth. I snickered a little. Caesar. The name fit him very well; he was very regal and powerful. There was something else about him, though… Standing by him, he felt so magical, as if he was something to be found in the pages of fairytale books.

"How old is he?" He looked to be middle-aged, for he was quite seasoned, but very youthful.

"He's eleven years old." Chichi Son's answer was just as I'd thought.

"Well, he's the most handsome Friesian I've ever seen." I caressed the giant's head affectionately and he began to doze off, leaning his head into my hand. The gesture made me giggle with delight.

"Goodness! Where are our manners? I'm Chichi, this is my husband Goku." I shook Chichi's hand, then Goku's. I didn't bother to say "I know"; I didn't want them to know I've become familiar with their family name through town rumors.

"Nice to meet you."

"You must be new around here, then?"

"Yeah. I just moved here from the States three weeks ago." So began the exchange of stories. As I did with everyone else who asked me, I told them about Ziggy and how I landed in Japan. The reaction was the same as it had been all the times before; sympathy. It was then Goku presented an offer I couldn't believe. He said they had two other horses I was more than welcome to come and ride. All I needed to do was let them know. I happily thanked them, took a couple more pictures of Caesar and went my way.

_So those are Gohan's parents, huh?_ They were very nice people, very open and warm, unlike Gohan who was anti-social and gave the cold shoulder to everyone.

_Maybe just his parents are into horses. He doesn't appear to be the type at all._ I could hardly imagine how anyone could have horses in the family and not love them. Then again, I've come across just that breed of people before…

I couldn't bring myself to leave, even after so much time. Everywhere I turned, there were more beautiful horses to photograph. Their coats glistened healthily, manes and tails waving with luminosity in the slight wind. A few head-shots here, a lot of full-body action shots there. I was disappointed when the Sons weren't looking to come out with their horses anytime soon again.

I sat down at a bench overlooking the open round pen, reaching for a drink of water and snacking on a couple Doritos. Hmm, fettuccini alfredo sounded irresistible for dinner… I'd get right to fixing that once I got home. In fact, the thought almost made me dash for my car at that instant, until I took another quick glance around the stallion stables and was rendered star-struck.

A black mass hovered across the asphalt, bouncing and prancing on long legs, a beautiful arched neck carrying high an elegantly shaped head, and tail flaunting about. I couldn't see the handler; then again, I could have cared less. The creature prancing some hundred feet in front of me had to be the most beautiful horse I'd ever seen. Solid black, no evidence of white on him whatsoever, and the most gorgeous of build! His dished Arabian face wasn't too exaggerated like most modern Arabians today; his neck was thick with sinew, legs springy and graceful.

I practically leapt from my seat, threw my shoulder bag around me, grabbed my camera, and snapped away. Even on the tiny display screen, I could see his power and beauty with each step he took. Unlike all the other stallions, he was being lead with a simple rope halter, not a leather-bound halter with a chain shoved up between his gums and lips. Intrigued, I continued to take a few steps closer, watching the stallion through my camera, snapping shot after shot.

I glanced down at the display screen after taking my dozenth shot, and I found a face in it that stood out; the eyes had as much impact on the screen as they did in person. Jerking my eyes up I looked for something other than the beautiful horse; I find his handler and owner, walking around the pen as he let the horse trot loose.

I knew Gohan's parents had horses, but I hardly expected to find him here; even more so, I hardly expected him to have such a beautiful, flawless horse.

Whether he saw me or not, I continued to stay where I was and snap pictures, trying to keep only the horse in the frame. The view granted only so much access, however, and I didn't feel comfortable getting closer; mostly because I didn't want to cross paths with Gohan, and secondly, I didn't want to disrupt their regimen. So, I said goodbye to the black horse for now, closed my camera up and left the fairgrounds.

* * *

><p>"Dude! We've missed you so much! You have no idea how freakin' boring it is without you!" Sara exclaimed on the other side of the webcam window. I rolled my eyes, tapping my laptop keyboard aimlessly.<p>

"I think Glen's going insane without ya," Ashlyn bantered. "He seems even more of a jerk than usual. I think the extra dose of grumpiness is due to not having his favorite person around."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "Yeah, sure."

"Hey, we went to our little den behind the construction zone of Covington," Amanda mentioned with a drawl. "It's turning into a hideout for losers who wanna smoke dope and drink and other things… It isn't as cool as it used to be."

That was too bad. A few years ago, Amanda and I found a little wild nook in the property behind our school, nestled in between the main road and a suburban neighborhood. In the past year, it was surrounded by construction of the new middle school, which made for a nice view of Mt. Saint Helens.

"It ain't even as fun to go howlin' without you anymore! None of us can make any convincing howls, none of the coyotes fall for it anymore," Sara complained. I grinned, recalling those memories. We weren't delinquents who were up to terrible mischief, but we did find our ways to entertain ourselves.

I wasn't just an outcast in society, but I was an outcast in my own group; a werewolf with another alien bloodline that allowed me to spontaneously shoot fireballs from my hands and accidentally collapse a locker door when I got upset. And yet, they still accepted me for who I was as a person, and not _what_ I was by blood.

Looking back on it, I didn't understand how easily they accepted me back in middle school, or how even I collected the bravery to tell them.

My friends were probably the primary example as to why I believed humans could have some shrivel of understanding in their genetic and mental makeup; the only hope I had for any sense of understanding from anybody who would see me as different, but just not a freak.

After chatting, we engaged in our first-ever international video-call band practice. It definitely wasn't the same as being there with them. I missed hearing the bass of the speakers tremble the ground beneath me; I wanted to get lost in the chaotic flood of music and voices, let it saturate into my skin. But for the time being, this was all I had to work with, if I wanted to continue venting and creating stories with music.

After a half hour of shredding, the girls quit practice and went home. A few moments later, Amanda hopped back on to video chat, just to talk privately. It was nice to catch up; we hadn't talked in two days.

"So how have you been?" I asked the very instant our conversation started. When her shoulders shifted, I could already perceive all wasn't well.

"The same, I guess," she muttered.

"What's 'the same'?" I drilled, eager to get information.

"My dad…he's just back to his stupid self now that you're gone. Yesterday, he yelled at me because my mom didn't feel like going for a night out with him and he blamed me for 'ruining' his marriage because I'm causing him so much stress."

"Well, don't listen to him. If your mother heard him say something like that, she'd—"

"But she's not going to find out. My dad would certainly make my life ten times harder if he knew I told my mom on him."

"Maybe you can live with your cousin in Gresham?"

"No," she snapped, hinting a burdened sigh to emphasize her apparent irritation. "If I tell my aunt and uncle why I want to leave home, they wouldn't believe me; even if they did, it'd just cause so much drama in my family."

"Amanda, you can't just put up with this. You have to get your dad to—"

"What can I do that hasn't already been done?" I flinched when she raised her voice. "I've already sat through countless family therapy meetings—with both my mom and my dad—but nothing works!"

A little miffed that she snapped at me, I didn't speak for a few moments, simply because I didn't know what else to say. Apparently, nothing brought any comfort or enlightenment.

I didn't want to acknowledge it, but lately Amanda had been acting rather impatient and…well, dull. I'd made sure to call and check in with her every day, at least once. Her moods had been violently swaying from hot to cold even more than usual. I couldn't blame her; with me no longer there to shield her from her father's tyranny and her home situation only getting worse surely wouldn't leave some sort of effect on her emotional well-being.

I hated seeing her in pain, but not having the words or actions to resolve her issues was even more unbearable. "Are you okay?" I finally asked, a near-whisper.

She paused, her eyes gazing off to the far side before looking into her webcam lens. "No, but I will be. It always goes away eventually."

"Have you been…cutting?"

"Kind of."

My chest felt heavy all of a sudden, and it was difficult to breathe. I sighed deeply. "Amanda, what can I say or do to make this better?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, looking down at her hands. The frown on her face was hurtful; the vacant dullness of her eyes was worse. "I think I'll just head off for the night, I'm pretty tired. Good night."

Before I was able to finish replying "good night", her video feed had cut off, leaving me with my mouth parted, the word "night" at the tip of my throat. _Okay then. _The tense conversation lingered in my head, making me restless with anxiety. It became so intolerable, I had to find release.

Nightfall had turned the world a dim sheen of black and purple. Discarding my clothes 'til I was in nothing but my underwear I slipped outside my bedroom window and sleeked across our extensive backyard, curious as to what territory awaited me beyond the tree-line. I couldn't believe I never previously thought about going out for a run in wolf skin to unwind. My mother wouldn't join me; at a certain point in a werewolf's life, they could put off the Change by taking necessary steps. The only downside was, it was uncomfortable.

It was about ten o' clock at night, so the neighborhood and woods alike were peaceful. Then again, Mom probably wouldn't let me go on a tour on my own of this new territory for a good month and a half or so. Too bad, I was going to take that tour anyways.

I dug my bare feet into the silken soft soil, shivers rippling through my body as the first stage of the change released ecstatic adrenaline in my veins. With a violent jerk forward, lurching my spine, my human form exploded into a different bipedal creature of fur, sinew, and beauty.

Dropping on all fours I arched my back in a lengthy stretch, extending my long digitigrade legs. Despite my hair being dyed black, my original brown pelt shone in the moonlight with luminous highlights of gold and red. Shaking myself off I let out a long, indulgent groan of satisfaction to be in my wolf pelt once again. It had been three weeks, since before the move.

I peered into the tree-covered hills in front of me, my nose investigating the scents in the air and my long pointed ears perking this way and that for any sign of intruders.

I was alone. This trail was all mine to explore and claim.

With bountiful forest range like this, it wouldn't take me too long to learn to enjoy this place. I didn't have to sneak around a cul-de-sac for a few turns to get somewhere sheltered in order to change; I didn't have to worry about others stumbling in on me in wolf form; I didn't have to fret about being seen in case of an emergency.

_I didn't want to have to admit it, but…this place really is nice._

Discovering plenty of riches along the trails, I stayed out past one in the morning. There was so much wildlife, I was like a kid in a candy store, stopping to watch and observe late-night grazing deer or owls hunting. The light breeze brought with it the surprising aroma of one animal I recognized immediately: horse. From the potency of the scent trail, it must have been a herd of wild horses, further up the mountain. Every inch of my excited conscience wanted to go and explore further.

About three miles in, I caught an interesting scent. It was somehow familiar, though I couldn't identify it. It was a natural, mature cologne of the male kind, but was somehow unlike other male scents I've caught. The smell wasn't bitter or sour, but instead musky and sweet, not too overpowering. It actually stirred something in my deepest instinct, made my hackles stand on end in some strange relish. I didn't know what it meant, but I pursued the smell.

As I followed the trail, I realized the scent was far too fresh; it meant whoever was behind it was still amongst me. Thinking what could happen if I ran into this alleged other wolf didn't cross my mind. I just wanted to find what or who was behind that damn intoxicating smell.

One more step. And another step, then another…

Something moved in the blackness out of my peripheral. I swerved around and two glowing eyes were fixated on me. My hackles raised instinctively and I balled up into a defensive crouch. The eyes narrowed at me. I could hear footsteps in the soft ground coming for me, closing the twenty foot gap 'til it was down to twelve feet. The moonlight managed to shine just right for me to see the figure; a tall masculine wolf, strapping with powerful sinew and luxurious black fur. It wasn't until my eyes followed the body to the face did I recognize who it was as clearly as if he were in human form.

_You…_, I breathed in disbelief. The black wolf's ears tilted back and I could see in his eyes he was as surprised to see me as I was him. I knew he could hear my silent exclamation; werewolves could communicate in human words through telepathy. It was like an instant messaging chat-room; you could choose to direct words to one individual or a certain party of individuals all at once.

_What are you doing here?_ he asked me demandingly, as if I was trespassing on his territory. Perhaps I was, but that didn't concern me. Instead, I was stunned I wasn't able to put the pieces together before tonight; why I didn't immediately recognize the scent when it was so blatantly obvious.

_I live here_, I snapped. Gohan tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing me from where he stood.

_You live on this mountain?_

_At the foot of it._ I wasn't going to say any more than that. I didn't have to explain anything to this guy, regardless of what he thought. Before he could ask me any more questions, I turned away and went back for home, looking over my shoulder to see if Gohan followed me. Of course, no one was behind me, but I couldn't shake off the feeling I was being watched—being followed. It was that undeniable feeling of having another's eyes intently tracking my movements. Once I was home and snuck in through my bedroom window, I looked back out to the woods and found nothing.

* * *

><p>His scent burst into my nostrils as soon as I entered Mr. Banderaz's classroom. That sweet cologne I felt so embarrassed to be attracted to nearly made me lose my composure. Gohan, however, treated me the same as always; little to no acknowledgement. Even during P.E, the dude didn't even look at me. In fact, it was as if he was making too much of an effort to ignore me.<p>

_Why am I even concerning myself with this? He's a werewolf, so what?_

Although I was happy this marked the final stretch of the day, my gym teacher made it as miserable as my struggling for control did. Even if I was stuck in another boring classroom, at least I would be able to just sit and draw away the hour instead of spending it in a tense anxiety over whether or not I can get through to day without taking someone's head off with a flying ball.

Emptily gazing out to the rest of the gymnasium, I saw a few familiar faces in another class's roll-line; three boys from the Alphas. Vincent and Ian were both clad in muscle-shirt tank tops, though Ian's arms weren't quite as beefy and sculpted as Vince's.

When I saw Gohan, my heart missed a beat. So stupid.

He was the only one wearing a long-sleeved workout shirt. Even through the full-body cover, I could sense the muscle and sinew underneath, his broad shoulders powerful and chest hugged by the shirt's thin fabric. It was then I took the indulgent moment to appreciate how attractive he was in detail, rather than general appearance.

He had to be the ideal blend of buff and lean, his natural male's waistline and frame unaltered by over-exaggerated muscle build. Connected to his slim waist were long, sinewy legs half-exposed by the baggy shorts he wore. His face, however, was his most striking attribute. Pale, milky-white skin only made his deep black eyes stand out all the more; shaggy and spiked black hair complimented his smooth, soft jawline and cheekbones. There was no doubt about it, he had to be one of the most attractive males I'd ever seen, forget the overall contrast of humans and werewolves.

"You're so hopeless," I heard Kendra snicker, breaking my trance. "You go on and on about how Gohan doesn't affect you, you could care less, you aren't interested in him, and yet here you stand, gawking at him like you just saw an angel."

"Shut up," I snapped, unable to help the defensive tone in my voice. Crossing my arms, I struggled not to look back Gohan's way the rest of the class, but as the day went on, this became impossible to do, as my class and his meshed together for a game of soccer out in the fields. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or nervous when he was put on the opposing team.

About five minutes into the uneventful game, the gloomy clouds overhead brought rain down at a moderate rate. It was too much for some, however, as girls all shrieked and complained to their teachers they wanted to go get their hoodies out of the locker-room or even sit out of the game altogether. Rolling my eyes, I just took the rain happily as it came down; I could care less that all I had on was a sleeveless top and a pair of sport shorts. The downpour was refreshing, as each drop fell onto my bare skin and erupted into a cool euphoria to my senses. I was elated when the teachers didn't call off the game.

Soccer was one of the few sports I enjoyed playing, but just as anything else, there were precautionary measures I had to take with my strength. But as I continued to watch Gohan play effortlessly and score goal after goal, my competitive side began to sink in. _So he thinks he can dominate soccer? _Well, two can play at that game.

I kicked myself into high gear, letting my feet collide with the ball with sheer force, sending it rocketing across the ground and into the other team's net. Allowing miniscule amounts of pride to seep in, I continued to strut, exhibiting my athletic ability and drive. After I'd scored another three goals, my teammates began to show their praise.

Everyone soon fell solemn once again, however, when Gohan had his eyes set on our goal net. I could tell by the looks he flashed Ian—his teammate—they were communicating wordless strategies as they danced across the field with the ball. I was on the offensive, so it was my job to make sure he didn't get past me.

When Ian kicked the ball over to Gohan, I took a deep breath and charged to meet him head-on, calculating in my head the best way to swoop in and kick the ball away. It didn't work out so smoothly, though; just like any other opponent, Gohan steered to avoid me but I was a step quicker and cut off his path. My leg flew for the ball but collided shin-to-shin and knee-to-knee with his leg instead. I couldn't maintain my balance in order to keep pushing through as a sharp, throbbing pang shot up my leg; I fell to the ground, off to the side of Gohan's path, as he went onward and scored only a few steps away from me.

I never had incidents like this, but it was a good time to thank my pedigree of bloodlines and good family genes, for I had a hunch my whole leg _should_ have been shattered from that collision, when instead it was merely numb and sore. In a few blinks, Gohan was standing above me with a wary, alert face. Looking deeper past his outward expression, he actually looked stunned, as if he expected me to be writhing and screaming in pain.

"Sorry for that," he said hurriedly, offering his open-palmed hand. "Sometimes I get carried away." Unsure of why the hell I even bothered, I took his aid, ignoring the small electric current slithering up my arm from his touch. Upon putting slight weight on my right leg, I buckled and nearly plopped back onto the sodden ground. I blushed upon seeing Gohan's arms only inches from my body, as if he was ready to catch me if I descended another centimeter.

"You all right, Teague?" Ms. Lang inquired, quite indifferent. Of course, I didn't expect her to comprehend what one little kick from Gohan could do. I nodded, but not after coming up with a clever little idea to take advantage of the situation and get myself out of the rest of the class. I exaggerated my stumble once I took another step; I didn't expect Gohan to again brace to catch me. I almost turned around to look at him and express my curiosity, but I had to concentrate on my act.

"Do you need to see the nurse?"

"On second thought, yeah, I think I should," I agreed. Once given permission, I limped my way across the field and for the building. Once in the nurse's office I achieved my goal of gaining a permission slip to be excused from the rest of the class. The numbness and shakiness had dissipated by the time I returned to be P.E, but nonetheless, I presented my excuse slip to Ms. Lang and sat out for the rest of the day.

"Hey, you; heard you went off to the nurse's office," Kendra greeted me on the bleachers. Apparently, her team had lost so while the conquering team went on to compete, hers was excused of any further participation.

"Yeah, I had a collision with another player; just a little tweak." I rubbed my knee a little to add authenticity to my charade.

"You mean Gohan?" Kendra teased, "Not just any player. It must have hurt badly."

"He definitely packs a punch—or kick, in this instance…"

Kendra and I sat on the benches as games continued to commence around us. Kendra often cheered while I sat quietly, enjoying the now calm weather. The rain had stopped since after my trip to the nurse's wing and that wonderful post-storm fragrance of damp earth cleansed the atmosphere.

"You know what I find kind of funny?" Kendra asked, folding her arms.

"What's that?" I dully responded, gazing out to the field full of bustling teenagers.

"Gohan hasn't taken his eyes off you all day. I swear, it's like he's trying to decode a math problem or something. He just…stares at you." There was as much confusion as there was hyperactive intrigue in Kendra's small, feminine voice. At least I wasn't the only one who thought he always appeared to have some big puzzle to solve.

"I doubt he's been staring at me all day," I objected, when I knew I had witnessed a fair share of Gohan observing me intently from afar. I didn't understand what it was he found so interesting about me; I was a werewolf, just like him, there should be no mystery.

"Oh, it's been all day," Kendra insisted eagerly; I could hear the grin in her voice without looking at her.

"How could you know?" When she didn't answer, I scoffed. "Oh, so you've been ogling at Gohan as he's been staring me down?" I cocked an eyebrow, glancing over at her. Kendra scoffed.

"Please, I'm not the only girl who does it, but yes. I don't get it, though; did you say something to him the first day you came here that would cause him to stay focused on you?" Her fine dark blonde eyebrows inclined in confusion, relinquishing her hyperactive expression from a few seconds ago.

"We haven't said anything to each other," I answered honestly. Thankfully, she didn't pursue the subject and just sat quietly with me the remainder of the class. The rain never returned, which allowed all the students to mingle in groups once they had been relinquished from the game and replaced with another team. One such group was Gohan and Ian; the two pack brothers stuck to themselves a couple bleachers down from where Kendra and I lingered.

"You should talk to him," Kendra insisted, breaking my trance of boredom. I knew who she was referring to without taking a look.

"I'm not going to, Kendra. I don't have any reason to want to know him." Even with the image of his beautiful Arabian stallion fresh in my mind, I made such a declaration. Perhaps it was a total lie; it would be nice to have a friend of the opposite sex again, because I used to get along with guys better than with girls—at least, before puberty happened, anyways. Sure, my friends back in Washington were tomboys like me, but adding a little testosterone to my assortment of friends would add variety.

"Hmm, Jordane, you're a great person and I like you a lot, but you'll thank me for this later." My confusion over her statement was immediately supplanted with a jumping startle when she whistled. "Gohan!" she called, causing my eyes to bulge and my mouth to drop open. I looked to see Gohan had infallibly heard Kendra and had his wary, curious eyes on us both.

"Jordane wants to talk to you!" Kendra preened, pointing at me. I was speechless, my heart picking up as Gohan actually began to walk toward us. "Remember, you'll thank me later," Kendra whispered deviously just before Gohan reached us. He looked at me expectantly; soft, timid, but somehow demandingly curious.

I felt idiotic as I did nothing but stand there. "Um…"

"Kendra, could you give us a minute, please?" Gohan's proper request and soft smile left both Kendra and I stumped.

"Sure." Kendra politely excused herself and went to join a group of people I assume she was at least acquaintances with. It was far enough away so she couldn't eavesdrop on our conversation.

"Kendra's nice, but she does have her moments sometimes." I didn't expect the honest and patient remark that came from Gohan's mouth. This guy had a knack for reading people, for I didn't say a word and yet he hit the nail on the head. "I'm guessing you really didn't want to talk to me, at least not as Kendra implied. But I actually do want to talk with you."

My eyebrows shot up. "You do?" I followed his movements closer to the bleachers, out of view from most of the students and teachers. Gohan gently leaned against a metal rod, his shoulders at an easy slouch and his facial expression reflecting his body language.

"First off, I just want to apologize if I haven't been too welcoming, especially when we ran into each other last night. I'm kind of cautious when new wolves come into my territory." Gohan's black eyes were so gentle yet so guarded; when I'd felt inept and clueless around him before, I was instead intrigued.

"Don't worry about it," I assured half-wittedly, crossing my arms against my chest. I soon found a topic of conversation. "So, um, Renea invited me to a concert this Thursday with you guys; I was wondering if it was okay with you that I went, since it's your pack and all." Gohan's brows inclined upward ever so slightly, as if he was surprised I would inquire on such a topic.

"It is fine with me," he answered honestly, unravelling a little coil in my stomach and releasing my tension.

"Thanks. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it before I went along. I don't want to make any enemies with anybody." I was surprised he understood what I said; usually when talking to someone new or faced with an awkward situation, I spat out words in a hurried cyclone to the point no one could understand me.

Gohan's lips pulled up at the corner slightly. "A quiet girl like you, make enemies? That seems very unlikely."

Forgetting my low and quiet profile, I scoffed aloud with a half-laugh. "You'd be surprised," I objected lightly, kicking at a rock. No words came from Gohan; he continued to gaze at me for what I swear were the longest two minutes I'd ever lived through.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." With a casual, shy smile, he turned on his heel and walked off with the smooth gait of one of those cliché detectives from old-time movies. He left me standing there, clueless, as to just why he spent five minutes talking to me, with no real point given. Was he truly that sincere of a living being to come out of his shell simply because he desired to help me feel a little more welcome? It would have been nice to think so. These days, there isn't a moment where I don't double-guess people and their true motives behind the things they do and say. Unfortunately, it's the world we live in; sheer honesty is often a hard thing to come by.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Eeh, another chapter that's mostly filler…there'll be a lot of those. **

**- J**

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	10. 9:WhyIsThereAlways Trouble in Paradise?

**9. Why Is There Always Trouble in Paradise?**

**_Jordane_**

My attire was ideal; worn skinny jeans with tears, and a tank top should give me plenty of room to breathe and be comfortable in a stadium full of moshing, fist-pumping music-goers.

I waited outside in my driveway not too terribly long. I expected to be looking out for Vince's little Toyota Celica sedan, but was instead stunned when a full-sized white Hummer pulled over in front of my house.

"This is yours?" I gaped at Renea as I took my seat in shotgun.

"Yeah," she snickered awkwardly. "I actually have another car, too; a little sedan. But this is our groupie car when we go out."

I suppose this shouldn't come as a surprise that she's a bit privileged, to say the least; after all, her dad was an independent doctor with his own hospital and her mother was a veterinarian of similar stature. To think I made friends with a bunch of rich kids who lived in million-dollar luxury homes and could afford a gas-guzzling car or two…

The drive to the amphitheater was a long and tedious one. Traffic was truly horrid once we reached the heart of the city, twenty times worse than rush hour over the I-205 Bridge back in Washington. The whole drive took nearly an hour, but we managed to arrive twenty minutes before the concert started. There was an empty spot open by a large white pickup truck; once we parked, the boys came out from the other side of the truck. I only counted three instead of four, just as Renea had said. Ian, apparently, had to close up for his father at their business so he couldn't come with us to the concert. They had an extra ticket, and I was the only one, according to Renea, they would like to give the ticket to. The gesture was quite humbling; these people barely even knew me and when they could have chosen any person in our entire school, they chose me.

After brief introductions, I stuck close to Renea as the group began to move into the auditorium. Despite being only minutes away from seeing one of my favorite bands in the flesh, I was anxious and restless. Just as any animal is introduced into a new and strange environment, I couldn't seem to relax and enjoy myself. The new people, the new place; of course, the congestion of the crowd didn't help, either.

_I hate crowds… _When the auditorium only continued to fill up, leaving me touching shoulder-to-shoulder with those around me, regret began to claw at the inside of my skull. I did not do well in crowds; I hated the closeness, the lack of air, the body heat. Blagh…

I tried to drown out the infestation once Disturbed graced the stage and the concert actually started; whenever my favorite songs played, I sang along with growing confidence. Renea soon joined me, and as soon as she did, my tension continued to melt away. I didn't know where Gohan or the others were, but Renea was the closest one beside me. We were singing buddies, as we fist-pumped and sang to _Ten Thousand Fists in the Air_. Rather than focus on the discomfort of being so crowded, I allowed the energy and excitement of the concert-goers seep into me.

I shrieked in surprise when I felt an arm wrap around my knees and I was hoisted up over five feet off the ground. Renea was up right beside me, laughing, perched on Vince's other shoulder. Trying to keep my balance on his shoulder without having to plant my hands all over him, I continued on with Renea and cheered, sang, and fist-pumped with each heavy song.

By the end of the two-hour concert, just about everybody—including myself—were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Well, I shouldn't say everyone; Gohan was the only one of us who hadn't broken one bead of moisture and looked as content and relaxed as a sleeping newborn.

They all began talking about going to a pizza joint and getting a late-night snack when my lightweight happiness sank. When asked what I thought of the idea, I had to sheepishly admit my mother's stern orders to return home straight after the concert.

"Ah, Mum's orders, not to be trifled with. Well, it was nice hanging with you either way, Jordane. You should come around more often," Vince encouraged, giving me a wide, friendly smile. His bright hazel eyes shimmered exceptionally vivid, and it took all my concentration not to ogle as his chiseled, handsome face. Each of the boys of the Alphas were endowed in the looks department, each in their own individual way. Besides Gohan, Vince was the most handsome, but I found it hard to be attracted to him in that way. Nah, Vince was the type of guy who came across as a gentle-giant, teddy-bear brother figure. Even in this short time with him, he was a warm kindred spirit whom you couldn't help but feel safe and comfortable around. Another check added to the pros list; the cons check-list was still empty.

I said goodbye to the boys, including Gohan, who gave a gentle nod and mild but sincere smile in my direction. He hadn't spoken to me or paid any attention to me the entire night, which was actually something to be relieved for. I didn't want the feeling of his stare boring into the back of my head the entire night.

Renea's description of his dual personality was proven true so far. He truly was different than at school—well, everyone is different outside of school—but Gohan was different in a sort of extreme way. I mean, sure he came off as shy all the time but at school it was the isolated, don't-want-nothing-to-do-with-anyone kind of shy. Tonight, he was a quiet, modestly-silent-observer type of shy—the particular type of shy I often practiced.

For some odd, un-nameable reason, it was difficult for me to not smile during the drive back home.

* * *

><p>After my shift was done in the main stables, I skipped on over to the stallion stables to gaze at all the beautiful studs. Some, I gaped at in awe, others I frowned in sympathy. It wasn't that they were neglected or abused, necessarily, it's just the fact they looked so flustered and anxious. Stalls, unfortunately, do this to horses. For an animal that had the wandering, nomadic gene bred into them for thousands of years, I could only imagine the mental anguish they endure when boxed up in a little cage. And whenever they were taken out, they had chains shoved in their mouths, around their noses…<p>

It took me two looks in a certain stall to realize I'd found the horse I was searching for. Gohan's black stallion stood in the corner of the dim stall, ears perking and eyes opening when I came into his view. To see the beautiful creature so up close was exhilarating. Clicking my tongue, I dug into my backpack and brought out an apple, hoping it would coax him to me. When he stood still, I brought the apple to my mouth and took a large bite; the stallion raised his head a slight inch, uttering a small nicker.

"Well, come get it," I encouraged softly, holding the bitten apple in the gap between the stall bars. It was just enough; the horse came walking up and in two steps he was at the bars, reaching for the apple. I slipped my hand through so he could bite at the apple, and in two bites it was gone. While he was occupied with chewing, I took a quick but discreet stroke with my finger to his muzzle. Sweet Moon, I'd missed that velvet softness and the tickle of horse whiskers on my skin.

The black horse put his muzzle up to the bars, sniffing, with his ears perked and eyes wide. "Sorry, that's all I have," I snickered, giving another pet to his nose. I'd forgotten my surroundings; my vision and focus was all on this horse, and how badly I wish I could take him out of this stall and work with him outside.

When his head didn't rise in objection, I continued to slide my hand in just enough so I could stroke his nose with my palm. I guess that apple did the trick, I had this horse in the palm of my hand; the way to a horse's heart is indeed through his stomach. Regardless, I had an ear-to-ear-grin on my face, not budging from where I was; neither did I pay attention to the people around me in order to feel the approach and presence of a certain someone behind me.

A faint little breath broke my trance, but didn't startle me right away. Gently relinquishing my hand from the stall, I turned my head over to find Gohan a few feet away, glancing back between his horse and me. He was smiling, but just a little. Without a word, he moved past me to the stall, and his horse eagerly leaned away from me to him.

"Did you make a new friend?" Gohan asked the horse, slipping his arm into the stall to pat him on the neck.

"Sorry if I wasn't supposed to bug him," I apologized out of courtesy. The light-hearted snicker that came from Gohan already told me what he would say.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to bite your head off just because you gave my horse an apple." His indifferent face didn't match the carefree tone of his voice once he glanced my way again. Without another word, he opened the stall door, slinging a sash across the doorway behind him, and walked into the box with his horse. Timidly, I walked closer to the open stall, watching Gohan as he pet and comforted the black stallion. Quickly glancing to an engraved gold plate on the outer wall of the stall, I read the horse's name: _Perfect Storm a.k.a "Lightning"_. The name "Lightning" wasn't very original when it came to horses, but regardless, it fit the stallion well.

I didn't know why I continued to stand there silently like an idiot, even as Gohan and I met each other's gazes more than once. The tension began to build again, and I quickly found something to say to break it. So, I said the only honest thing in my head. "He's an Arab, right?" Gohan faced me now while his arm stayed leisurely draped across Lightning's back.

"That's right."

"He's pure-bred?"

"Mhm."

My brows shot up. "He's awfully big to be a pure-bred…" _Unless_… No way… "He wouldn't happen to be a Faux Unicorn…?"

Judging by the sheepish, amused smile Gohan gave me, it was safe to say I was right. I looked at Lightning again, puzzled when I couldn't see his horn. "I've never actually seen one in the flesh," I told Gohan, gawking at his horse with a new sense of wonder.

"Faux Unicorns won't be seen as their true selves by everyone; just as with pure-bred Alicorns, they can only be seen by those who believe such creatures exist." Well, I believed! My expression must have echoed my thoughts, for Gohan added, "It takes practice. Concentrate closely on Lightning's forehead; you should be able to see something of his true self."

A little flustered, I did as Gohan instructed, honing my sights on the stallion's empty forehead. Indeed, besides his abnormal size, he looked just as normal as any other horse in these stables, with no classic trademark traits of Alicorns; no beard, no excessive feathering or mane around the legs or chest, no lion's tale—no horn.

Then I truly focused, determined to see this creature I painted and sketched on paper countless times, and I saw the apparition of Lightning's invisible horn. But it wasn't a glittery, sharp staff of ivory; I couldn't completely see it. Instead, it was as if I was peeking through a special type of lens, and I could see small, hovering specs of matter in the shape of an erect, pointed object. It reminded me of that time of day just before twilight hour, when you can see little smarms of insects clustered together in the lingering sunlight.

"Do you see it?" Gohan asked, on the border-line of excited and curious.

"Kind of? I see a real dim glow, with some little things hovering around his head." I looked to Gohan for confirmation or an explanation, and he half-nodded.

"It takes practice to develop the sight for it. You're seeing the energy—or the aura—of his horn."

"Can it be felt?" I asked modestly, slightly hoping for a chance to be able to pet the amazing creature before me. Gohan clicked his tongue, motioning with his fingers, and the stallion took a couple steps toward us.

"Go ahead and try," he encouraged softly, rubbing his hand along Lightning's neck. Up close, the swarming aura of his horn was fascinating. I felt as if I could just reach in and grab a handful of the little specs of lit dust and make a wish off them. Shyly, I felt Lightning's forehead where the base of his horn should have been, and was taken back when I felt something solid and tangible there, even though I couldn't see it.

Gohan must have read the astonishment in my face, for he smiled. "It's something to experience for the first time." I didn't cease my movements in petting Lightning's face, rubbing behind his ears and gently caressing the boney surface above his eyes. Warily glancing at Gohan, I nearly stopped what I was doing when I saw him just stare at the way my hands moved along his horse's skin. But no harsh or demanding expression occupied his kind face; he actually seemed a bit surprised.

"He's really taken to you," he admitted carefully, brows up with intrigue. I didn't really know what I was to say to such a declaration; thankfully, I didn't have to muster up the voice to ask. "Faux Unicorns, unlike normal horses that can adapt to any hand, have a selection of loyalty. They usually bind themselves to either one person or a small handful of people to protect and serve under. They enjoy socializing with other people but they sort of pick and choose who they want to trust and bother with."

Even for a believer like me, this was a somewhat difficult concept to swallow. The practical, rational horseman inside me that had been raised around normal horses knew this wasn't such the case. But who was I to say Gohan was wrong? I'd never met one of these creatures in all my life up to now, and it was obvious he had been raised around them.

"Just like their pure-bred ancestors, these Faux Unicorns have a sixth sense when it comes to people. They can tell by your voice, your touch, your eyes, if you're genuine or unkind. I suppose that's how they choose who they want to follow." As Gohan continued elaborating on the fascinating subject, he gazed fondly at Lightning. "Of course, self-preservation plays into it as well; they choose the one they feel safest with, so it's assumed. That's how it started for Lightning and I. I found him in a wrangler's horse snare out in the wild when I was a kid. I set him free and since then, he's stuck with me." His story made my stomach flush with warmth, the tenseness in my gut gone. Having no words to say, I only continued rubbing the relaxed stallion as he kept his head hanging near me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gohan glance my way, tilting his head discreetly. "May I ask you something else?" The genuine modesty and wariness of the question captivated me. Nodding, I gave him permission to ask.

"Well, it's somewhat of a personal question, but I truly am curious," he began, scratching his nose lightly and very briefly before shifting his feet, "Does the word 'Saiyan' mean anything to you?"

The first words out of my mouth would have been, "What's so personal about that?" but I did in fact know the word "Saiyan", and it nearly sent me to the floor. There was only one way Gohan could know about Saiyans...

_Oh my God… _

"By the look on your face, I'd say that's a 'yes'," he said softly, moving away from Lightning and leaning against the wall beside me, but not too close. I didn't know whether to be shocked, relieved, or just downright nothing. My head wouldn't stop spinning in order to make up my mind.

"So…you're a werewolf _and_ a Saiyan?" I asked, with a dry crack in my voice. He nodded solemnly.

"My mother is a werewolf, my father is a Saiyan."

I should have known… Hell, I always felt as though there was more to him than being just a Child of the Moon, especially from all the stories I heard from our fellow schoolmates. _He let his temper flare because he was being picked on and blew out the windows, without even so much as lifting a finger… Sound familiar? _

"Are there others?" I couldn't believe the high eagerness in my voice. All my life, I'd accepted the fact I would never meet another Saiyan, and here was one standing right in front of me. The possibility of there being more was just overwhelmingly fantastic.

"There are three more pure-breds; my father, a man named Vegeta, and my older cousin." I didn't know what expressions fleeted across my face as I continued to wallow in this new information. Whether or not I looked like an idiot wasn't of much concern to me, because in another few moments, another pressing question surfaced in my conscience.

"How did you know I'm part Saiyan?" I could feel my eyes were wide as a wary doe, but I was so ecstatically curious and desperate for answers, I couldn't help myself.

"I could sense you—your energy."

"You…'sensed' my energy?"

Gohan blinked, almost flustered at my confusion. "Oh, hmm. How can I explain this? Erm, every living thing generates some sort of energetic field; you could call it an aura or energy, or life force."

I attempted to connect the dots myself. "So, because of my life force, you could tell me apart from other people?"

"Yes. You have a far higher energy than what is typical even for a _loup-garou_. I was a bit slow to catch on to it, at first; I've just finally figured this out, after it'd been gnawing at me ever since you've been here."

I don't know why my breathing skipped out of rhythm; did he just admit to having me on his mind, giving clarification that he wasn't simply disturbed all the time he's stared at me in class?

He must have realized what he said, as well; his eyes suddenly became uneasy, shifting to anything else other than me, with a slight, worried pucker in his brows. Before the tension could fully saturate the space around us, I cleared my throat and quickly thought of something uninventive. "Why can't I sense energy?" It was one of those questions he sure as hell couldn't answer, and it made me feel like an idiot that I even asked. Maybe it would have been better if I just kept my mouth shut.

Gohan shrugged. "I can't put my finger on the exact cause, but the most common basis could be simply that you haven't trained yourself. Once you learn how to utilize your senses to the next degree, it becomes second nature, being able to sense others' life auras."

It made sense; hell, not training myself would explain for a whole lot of things. My curiosity suddenly rocketed to new heights upon the thought of what all Gohan could do, as a Saiyan, since it's obvious he's been training himself to some degree.

A voiceless draw made me glance down at the dial on my thick-banded wrist-watch, surprised I'd been standing here talking to him for an hour. Amazing; it didn't feel as if we'd exchanged an hour's worth of conversation… I still had countless questions to ask, but none I could bring to mind in the moment. As badly as I wanted to go home and end the day, I didn't want this to be my only opportunity to get answers.

"Well, um, I should be getting home. Is…is it okay if, maybe, I can ask you a few more questions—I mean, sometime later?" Gohan appeared a little dumbfounded, as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to carry on the conversation or let me go. After a few thoughtful blinks, he nodded gently, allowing a smile to creep up at the corner of his lip.

"Sure, you can ask me more questions. I'll see you in school, then." Giving another farewell nod and smile, I took one more glance at Lightning before turning away from the stall and trudging down the barn aisle. For some reason, I couldn't get myself out of that barn slow enough; there were still remnants of a draw back toward Gohan and his horse, but I kept my body forward and my feet moving, nearly bolting out of the fairgrounds from the rush of pure thrill coursing through my body.

* * *

><p>It would be good to get out and do something, I told myself. <em>It won't be that bad, if Kendra's going. <em>But as I stood waiting for Kendra, Lacey, and the others to arrive in my driveway, there was that impeccable wrenching in my gut that agreeing to go shopping wasn't such a bright idea.

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle came into view, and I remained clueless until it pulled up alongside me. There was something familiar about that Bug… Slipping into the spacious little car, however, I caught sight of pink fuzz-die hanging from the rear-view mirror, with a glittery caricaturized bumblebee with the word "Bee-otch" outlined in even more glitter. I recognized the trinkets from my first day of school, when I stole the parking spot from this same yellow Bug and its driver, which happened to be Lacey. No wonder we didn't like each other from the get-go…

The mall was massive and epic; far larger than the most extravagant shopping centers in Oregon and Washington combined. I should be able to find some interesting stores and artifacts in this place. Well, if I ever got a chance to explore more than two stores, that is. By the time the second hour clocked in, we were still in the same clothing store. Designer clothes and accessories were everywhere I looked, drowning me in exaggerated femininity, fashion, and anything of the like that I despised if exposed to for too long. No article of clothing we passed was one I'd be caught dead in.

As if it couldn't get worse, the girls took every single garment and accessory to the dressing room, playing dress-up and matching each little piece of jewelry to an ensemble. There were redundant exchanges of, "Oh my God, totally a keeper!", and "Wait, no, this skirt with these shoes!", and "Hot or not?" Lacey and her girls squeezed together to fit inside the elegant floor-length mirror for a picture. Puckering their lips in an atrocious duck-like face, and adding an arch to their backs so their asses were proudly flaunted, they took dozens—if not hundreds—of photos like this.

I kept a growl of displeasure lodged deep in my throat. If a stranger were to waltz in, they wouldn't even consider me a part of this estrogen-overdose of a posse. My hair was in its usual unmade 'do, and I was indisputably comfortable in my airy Tripp pants and loose-fitting tank.

_Note to self: if it feels like a bad idea, then it _is_ a bad idea. _

I felt the cushion of the seat beside me give way to pressure. Kendra smiled at me, holding a couple pairs of shirts and pants in her lap. "You're suffering, aren't you?"

I didn't bother to keep my laugh in check. "How on earth did you guess?" I snickered, nudging her.

"I'm sorry," she expressed guiltily. "I should have known you don't do this kind of shopping…"

"Ah, don't worry about it," I sighed. "Next time, just you and me. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Why do you even hang out with these girls? You're not even half as insane and intolerable as they are." The room was large enough and filled with the flock of human she-ducks' yacking for Kendra and I to carry on a quiet conversation.

Her eyes fluttered over to the girls and then she leaned in closer to me. I did the same, slouching a little and listening carefully. "To be honest, I don't even know sometimes. Lacey and I have known each other since middle school; for some reason, I just haven't been able to separate myself from her. She hasn't always been this bad, but then you go through puberty, get into the vain crowd of teen society… You know how it goes."

"Yet you still stay with them?"

"I know it sounds selfish, but Lacey and the others have never offended or belittled me. They just do it to everyone else. I suppose I'm just too much of a coward to stand up for myself and voice my own opinion."

"You're not a coward," I amended empathetically, sighing. "It's hard to stand alone from a crowd when you're used to blending in to get by in society. Back when I was eight, I was friends with this one girl since kindergarten. She was more girlie than I was, but that didn't matter much until we got older and she wanted to be a young woman while I just wanted to just be a kid. She became pretty shallow, started hanging out with the popular kids while leaving me alone on the swing-set. For a while, I tried to go along with it because at the time, I felt like she was the only person I could fit in with. But then I began to make other friends—truer friends—and it wasn't until she began to insult them and bully them did I finally get the guts to say 'no' and wash my hands of her."

"Why do people have to change?" Kendra's question was a sad, breathy imploration; I caught her gaze was inclined at Lacey, as if the question was intended for her rather than me.

I answered for her, in just as somber of a murmur, "I don't know."

It was another forty minutes before the girls finally had their fill of shopping; I inhaled the fresh air eagerly, yearning to rid the clinging stench of potent perfume from my nostrils.

To make up for bringing me along to the horrid shopping trip, Kendra insisted we go to the fairgrounds. She encouraged me to take her to where I worked at the stables, but I knew Lacey and Rachel weren't going to find anything of interest.

"So, you, um, pick up horse poop?" Rachel asked, at least attempting to sound interested, but still doing a horrible job at it.

"Yup," I said happily, continuing my two-step pace ahead of them.

"Doesn't it stink? I mean, all crap stinks." Lacey didn't follow Rachel's deed in feigning courtesy; the distaste was very clear in her high-pitched, nasally voice.

"Nope, not horse manure. In fact, there's no better smell to wake up to than the sweet aroma of horse scat." My tone was as lightweight and carefree as I could manage, smirking at the looks Rachel and Lacey must have had on their faces behind me. I didn't need to change or act different just to gain their approval—especially Lacey's approval.

As we turned the corner for the gate that would lead to the equestrian area, a gruff-looking man came from the opposite direction and nearly collided into me. Without a word, he slid over to avoid me, still managed to bump shoulders with me in his haste.

"Excuse you," I uttered disgracefully to the man, intentionally loud enough for him to hear. It was soon forgotten, for he didn't turn around to confront me for my smart remark.

First place we visited was the large arena, where it appeared to be hosting a dressage event. The girls and I stood where we could find space in the crowded arena, managing to squeeze in close enough to rest our arms on the barrier.

"Rider Two-Seventy-Five please report to the post," a man announced over the intercom, ringing my ears because it was so loud and clear. Lacey and Rachel murmured amongst each other while Kendra continued to ask me random questions about what was happening around us; what moves the horses were performing, why the riders made certain gestures, how the horses could perform certain movements. I looked toward the entrance of the arena to analyze the next horse and rider, to be pleasantly surprised at who I found.

Gohan sat calmly on the back of his father's regal Friesian, and they walked to the starting point of the dressage course. I assessed the tack on Caesar; a traditional English bridle with a snaffle bit and breast collar but no martingale. I was pleased when I discovered Gohan wore no spurs, unlike ninety-percent of the riders. Wearing only a thin-fabric, long-sleeve tunic of a dark navy blue color, with black loose-fitting pants, he had more pizzazz than most English riders did in their attire.

"Is that…?"

"Oh. My. God. Gohan? What's he doing here?"

"You guys didn't know he was involved in equestrian stuff?" It was a stupid question to ask; Gohan kept so much of his personal life from everyone I couldn't believe I even considered they knew of his extracurricular activities. Lacey uttered a smart reply, returning her eyes to Gohan and Caesar as they began their routine. Before I got my camera out to snap some pictures, I observed Gohan's riding style.

"What's going on? He isn't even doing anything…," Rachel announced in confusion.

They may not have been able to see Gohan giving cues to Caesar and directing him, but I certainly could. He gently squeezed his heel into Caesar's flank to bring him from a walk to a trot, transitioning into a canter to take a four-foot jump with effortless finesse.

The most impressive thing I noticed was Gohan's hands; he had a loose rein the entire time with no pressure on the snaffle bit whatsoever, when most riders kept their reins short and tight with contact. With each transition and direction he gave, he did it with only the slightest movement of his hands. No rollkur or any signs of discomfort on Caesar's part; was this really dressage or a better variation?

"Well, whatever, this is boring. If we're going to be here, I want to at least pet some horses," Rachel declared. She and Lacey both went ahead and began walking, with Kendra following suit. Blowing a raspberry, I joined them, knowing this wouldn't be the only time I would see Gohan and Caesar today.

We made our way down the several aisles of the main stables, where Lacey and Rachel both expressed opinions I didn't care to acknowledge verbally; such as how cute the pink blankets, bridles, and tack were, or scolding certain horses for rubbing their lip on the girls' fingers, accusing the horse of trying to bite them. I rolled my eyes, explaining to Lacey as patiently as I could that the horse wasn't going to bite her. Whether she took my elaboration or not was beyond me.

Making the rotation around to the fourth aisle, I was the first to hear a heightened volume in the bustle around us. At first, I ignored it, but when the commotion accommodated a pitch of panic, I searched for the source to find the small crowds in the barn jogging outside. Coming closer to the opening at the breezeway, I caught the musky whiff of burning wood. Immediately alarmed, I quickened my pace, having forgotten the girls.

I skidded to a halt, mouth open in dismay, when I set sight on the stallion barn engulfed by flames. How in the hell did this fire spread so fast without anyone noticing it? The fire crews weren't even on site yet! People scrambled around, fetching hoses and buckets of water; few brave souls rushed back out of the barn after freeing what few horses they could.

In the chaos, I made a quick, random assessment; the flames were spreading to the far south end of the barn, where the Sons' stallions were kept. If Gohan was using Caesar earlier, there was nowhere else Lightning could be other than in his stall.

My gut flipped, nearly making me puke. This was as horrid as reliving my personal hell, I could hear Ziggy's neighs and whinnies of panic as clearly and vividly as if I'd been thrown back in time. Even though I knew how it ended—with Ziggy lying in ashes—I was still rendered horrified yet retained some manner of helpless, false hope that I could help, or that Ziggy would have been turned out to pasture by someone else in my stead.

I'd be damned if I was going to stand by and let a whole new hell happen again.

Taking off for the barn, I managed to slip past the barrier of guards that kept crying and panicking owners back; I found a clear entrance through one of the many tack rooms. When I emerged into the main aisle, I coughed and choked from the smoky, burning air. Now the adrenaline really sunk in; I didn't notice how many horses had already been saved, so I had no idea which aisle to start with to ensure I got every last horse out.

Darting down the closest aisle, I unlatched every single stall I passed, not bothering to check if they were occupied or not. I could hear and feel the tremble of hoof-beats on the asphalt, so I knew some horses were running about. As I went down each southern aisle, I only prayed these stallions' survival instincts hadn't been warped by years of training and confined stall life so they could navigate themselves to safety.

I was on the fourth aisle by the time I noticed flames above me, consuming the beams and causing debris to fall. My navigation skills weren't of observant nature at the moment, so I didn't count in my head which aisles I passed through. My heart nearly stopped when I came to the last stall in an aisle and found a black mass dancing madly inside.

Lightning wasn't even my horse, and I had no duty to him whatsoever to risk my life for him, along with the dozens of other horses I'd set free. But I wasn't going to let him die; the thought sent a crippling pain to my heart, for harm or death to come to this beautiful creature.

The ear-splitting screams he emitted were like nothing I'd ever heard on this earth. Was it because I was so close and he was screeching his terror into my head, or was it truly like no other sound a horse could make? I couldn't discern the proper answer.

My hands flew to the iron-hot latch to the stall; I'd gripped so many now, my hands were numb and oblivious of the burning pain. Yanking the stall door open, the black shape came hurdling toward me before I could completely move out of the way. Being faced with a similar situation in the past, I reacted upon reflex; I lifted my bodyweight neutral and one inch off the ground, just enough to prevent me from going under Lightning's feet when his body collided into mine.

My arms wrapped around his sinewy neck, my fingers instinctively entwined themselves in his long mane.

And I held on for dear life.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Some girl-talk and shopping filler, and then a moment for Jordane to show a little bit of heroism. Oh, and gotta love cliffhangers hehe**

**- J**

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	11. 10: Priority

**10. Priority**

**_Gohan_**

After I'd left the arena and waited to receive my scores, I noticed the crowd thinning in the stadium around me. Far before the announcer behind the intercom was delivered the news, I had already dismounted Caesar, leaving him with my parents, and jogged out to see what the panic was about.

Owners and handlers were fighting a handful of guards, who were ordering them to stay back, that the horses in the back stalls were a lost cause, as the back end of the stallion barn was eaten by greedy flames. I couldn't remember the last time my heart jumpstarted the way it did that moment I realized Lightning was still in his stall. I made a beeline for the barn, pushing past the guards with minimal effort, and charged into the smoke-filled halls.

Upon reaching the halfway point, I turned a corner, only to jump back to avoid being run over by a small herd of stampeding stallions. Thankfully, the lot of them was able to navigate down the correct route to safety.

Who was still in here? There was no way those horses were able to break out of their stalls by themselves, even if some of them were Faux Unicorns. I didn't see if Lightning was amongst the herd that flew past me, so I let out my specific whistle that was meant for him and only him. My augmented hearing picked up his whinny from a few aisles down and I wasted not one breath before darting for him.

I was two aisles down from his stall when Lightning emerged from a thick cloud of smoke, nearly crashing into me.

"Ho, ho, easy," I cooed to him, running my hands along his neck so it would register in his curious mind that it was me and not something to be feared. Before hoisting myself onto his back, I noticed a dark shape on the ground behind him. _What the…? _Swerving around, my jaw nearly dropped to the ground.

"Jordane?" I uttered in complete shock. What the hell was she doing here?! Explanations would have to wait, for I heard the beams above us creak and groan as the wood corroded and cindered from the molten flames. "Get on!"

The girl acted fast to my curt demand; she leapt onto Lightning's back just a second after I did. Once I felt her arms secured around me, I sent Lightning off at his fastest pace for the main exit.

There was a thundering crash behind and above us, making me curse despite myself, but I knew I couldn't push Lightning any faster or he'd be slipping at the corner he had to take up ahead.

Jordane and I both braced as I cued for Lightning to turn left. Not that I didn't have faith in my horse's sure-footing, but I knew high speeds and smooth asphalt didn't make a good combination; when Lightning cleared the turn without skidding or tripping I immediately relaxed. We were home-free now.

Emerging from the sauna of hell, I steered Lightning away from the crowd so no one would be run over, bringing him to a stop. I gave my share of coughs and grunts, having inhaled too much smoke to ignore. Jordane was joining me in the chorus of hacking. It didn't help when the crowd flocked and thickened around us, causing Lightning to be tense and uncomfortable underneath me. Somewhere amongst the tumult, I could no longer feel Jordane behind me; I couldn't see where she went off to, as my parents were soon in front of me, my mother reaching her arms out to me as if I were a small child.

"Gohan! Thank goodness!" I dismounted Lightning and rubbed him down, checking for burns or any other wounds. It was difficult for me to hear his breathing; the turmoil around me was still too loud.

I insisted I was fine, but I decided to humor my mother and the EMTs by putting an oxygen mask on, at least. A trip to the hospital was something I refused to condone to, despite whatever precautionary measures they wanted to take.

When finally left alone with my horse, I was able to observe his breathing; it was rough and wheezy. As long as he was trapped in that barn, it didn't surprise me he too inhaled too much smoke. Fortunately, I was familiar with an herbal treatment I could make for him once we're home.

_Oh! _Something sounded off in my head, reminding me of who helped me get Lightning out of the barn in the first place. The other owners around me were curious as well, looking amongst each other for a certain face to declare their heroic actions.

But no one could find that face, not even me. A little prick of unease made me worry, for some odd reason. Where was Jordane? I was hoping to thank her for rushing in to save Lightning, but walking all around the stable-yards, I couldn't find her anywhere.

My eye caught another girl, though; Kendra Diamond, who slipped through the crowd and rejoined Lacey Truit and Rachel Zane over by the rest area off from the main arena. Jordane wasn't with them; I saw her accompanied by the girls earlier today in the arena, just before the fire broke out. So I knew if something happened to Jordane, Kendra, at least, would know about it.

The distance between the girls and I was probably one hundred feet, and the commotion had quieted down to a low hum of murmurs; so, I stood still, and listened.

"…They just took her to the hospital. She didn't want to go, but I mean she was in that barn for a long time; word is she freed six rows' worth of horses!" There was an amazed sense of adoration in Kendra's voice, as if she never thought she'd personally know someone capable of such bravery. Rachel and Lacey, on the other hand, didn't share her admiration for their "friend".

"She's freakin' crazy. I mean, I can understand running into a burning building if there were people inside it, but all for horses? She's just crazy; I thought so from the first day she came here…"

"Don't be so cold, Lacey," Kendra objected sourly, "Maybe her own horse dying in a barn fire was what triggered that kind of reaction from her. I mean, none of us have had horses, so neither do we know what it's like to lose a pet and companion so tragically like that."

Kendra's little commentary left me a little speechless, even in my own mind. It made my gut tighten slightly, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a great deal of years. The realization that this girl—who was only a mere acquaintance to me—risked her own life for my horse, preventing me from suffering the same loss as she did, was a notion that threw me for a loop; in a pleasant way, I suppose. Of course, I knew she couldn't have done it solely for me. I could tell she took to Lightning in an interesting way, and he took to her. Oh well; whatever the motivation or thought process on her part, I was still thankful, the need to express my gratitude growing with each minute the thought lingered in my head.

The rest of the evening trudged along insipidly, leaving me with my thoughts for longer than I'd care to mention. Once home, I created the herbal treatment for Lightning; somewhere along in that process, I made up my mind I would wait until school tomorrow to thank Jordane. There was a moment I had considered going to the hospital, but it was a silly idea. Nothing screams "odd" other than a boy driving across town to a hospital just to say thank you to a girl he rarely exchanged words with.

I wouldn't get my chance, either way. Jordane was never present for the entire school day, let alone English or P.E. I dismissed it lightly, but on Friday, when I was certain she'd return, there was still no sign of her. While visiting with my friends before the starting bell in the parking lot, I'd scouted the parking lot for her little black Cobra, a little disconcerted.

I scanned the cafeteria for her, finding her absent when she should have been at her typical table with Kendra and the others. Anxiety spread throughout my mind, only making me more restless when Jordane's seat beside me in English class remained empty.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide my apprehension from everyone. Vince was the first to notice my behavior in P.E., during our track run. We'd completed the required number of laps; now we walked the course while our human classmates struggled to finish their last laps.

"What's gotten under your skin today?" Ian's attention was merited by Vince's question, tilting his head curiously.

"A lot gets under my skin," I replied sarcastically, a little groan to my voice so they knew by my tone I wasn't in the mood to deal with questions and over-the-top reactions.

"Must be something, if you're this grumpy," Ian chortled, nudging me as we walked idly around the track. I snorted at them, trying to pull myself together.

"Your bad mood wouldn't have to do with the fact Jordane's gone, would it?" Vince grinned, that teasing grin he only flashed every so often. This time, I was on the other side of that grin, and I could see why it drove Elliot a little nuts when being the target of Vince's playful banter. "I wouldn't think her, of all people, would get so much under your skin that you'd miss her for a day's absence." He and Ian both shared a snicker, exchanging another set of words that I didn't care to hear upon tuning their voices out.

Yeah, just what _had_ gotten under my skin? Jordane's absence couldn't be the reason; that'd be ridiculous. Sure, I was a slightly concerned, but why should I let it affect my natural rhythm? If anything, there've been days I wished she was gone, simply because she was such a damn paradox to me, I couldn't ever relax anymore. Always looking over my shoulder and hovering around her, nervously trying to observe her and make sure she didn't stir up trouble… She was a nice girl, but I could tell just by the way her energy skyrocketed all over the place throughout the day that she had little to no control over her emotions, and this could lead to turmoil. I didn't need things blowing up in my territory—literally.

* * *

><p>"Perfect! I've done it again; Goten, you look so adorable in this outfit! It's definitely a keeper."<p>

I felt so sorry for my little brother. I was older and had earned my right to pick my own clothes, but now Goten's only taken my place as Mom's little child model.

The strange thing was, he didn't seem to mind it much…yet. He may be the first male of the Son family to actually enjoy a shopping trip with our mother. My father and I both sat on the sidelines in the kid-friendly furniture in the children's clothing aisle, bored out of our minds.

My father's stomach rumbled, a louder indication of his never-ending hunger. "Chichi, I'm starving. Can't we go get some food?"

"We just ate brunch an hour ago-!" My mother cut her own statement dead in its tracks; she knew better after all this time that an hour without food was like a whole day to my father. Sighing, she rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm nowhere near done shopping with Goten. You and Gohan go ahead to the food court to get something to eat."

I didn't hesitate; I was first out of my chair when excused, which was a bit surprising. When it came to food, nothing made my father move faster. We both were half-running out of the clothing store.

The food court was crowded, as it was every weekend afternoon, but no matter the wait, my father was determined to get his food. There was an impressive gurgling in my stomach, but I had a more, shall I say, flexible appetite than my father did. I've learned to control my appetite, because I hated the glances and stares of disbelief I'd get when I ate lunch in school, scarfing down nearly five containers of food in minutes and still feeling like I could eat two whole chickens. A Saiyan's high protein and high-carb diet requirements weren't always easy to live with.

Sitting down with Dad to eat some various pasta and rice dishes, I aimlessly gazed around the food court in-between bites, finding some random classmates from school amongst the sea of faces. They went about their busy little lives, only occupied with the little bubble set around them and their friends. This was good; it meant a less likely chance of drawing attention to myself.

One figure in particular caught my attention; so much so, my heart picked up a bit. But my view was obscured by a tall woman walking beside this figure. It wasn't until they parted to take a seat seventy-some feet away from me I uttered the breath of relief I'd been waiting to let out for two days.

Jordane, alive and well, sat down to eat a teriyaki rice dish with a short-haired woman I could only assume was her mother; she was a couple inches taller and a little thicker in build, but I could see the resemblance in their petite, distinctive faces. They had the same shape of brows, lips, and nose—these small details I could see even from a distance.

I could stop worrying now; Jordane was safe and healthy. _Why the hell did I get myself so worked up for in the first place? If something had happened to her, I would have been able to sense it. _Disgruntled at the way I'd been acting—or overreacting—I didn't leave any room to feel greater relief for Jordane's presence other than the fact she wasn't hurt doing something I should have done in her place.

* * *

><p>I excused myself from the group to the kitchen, my throat distastefully dry from all the laughing and joke exchanges that had been transpiring all day. Something soothing and thick sounded nice, so I grabbed a bottled smoothie drink from the refrigerator in Renea's kitchen. I took a leisurely swig.<p>

The garage door in the back of the house opened, and I could hear Don's hard-heeled work shoes clapping against the tile floor. I lingered, knowing there would be something he'd like to address once he saw me.

"Oh, Gohan," he greeted me in his casually kind way, his blue eyes very bright—the way a person's eyes lit up when they had the perfect job and the perfect life. With Renea and her parents, they had a pretty good grasp on that concept. "I've got to say, I was very pleased when I finally received your application this morning in my inbox at the office," he then said to me, retracing my movements in reaching for a drink in the fridge.

I nodded with a relieved smile. I'd put off handing in that application for so long due to petty reasons; next to Vince, I would be the youngest student in Don's academic clinic, learning from the best to make a career out of science and medicine. Now I finally took the first step.

"So I'll see you in winter for your first quarter?" Don's thick brows pulled up in a hopeful curiousness; just like my mother, he wanted to make sure I went where I was supposed to, but on a more subtle level.

"Definitely."

"Good. I hope you're not too intimidated by this undertaking. You're going to be leaping into college-level academics, which I know you're no stranger to. The clinic needs intelligent students like you, and I hope you'll feel right at home and hold your head high."

Nodding, I took Don's words to heart. I was as eager to train under him as he was eager to teach me. He and my mother never could talk too much about the potential I had in the medical and scientific field; science and math were both subjects I've always excelled at with my schoolwork. At first, it was all to please my mother, who'd dreamed of such a career for me. Perhaps those early lessons still played a large part, but I _wanted_ to become a doctor—of any kind—whether it be in a lab making scientific breakthroughs or working hands-on in clinics helping people with health issues; that career path was what I had my eyes dead-set on, without a doubt.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, disrupting my conversation with Don. Upon seeing my mother's name on the caller I.D., I figured she was getting impatient and wanted me to come home.

"Gohan, is your brother with you?" My mother's voice was high-pitched right from the hello—more than usual. The stress in her voice was unmistakable.

"No. Why? Can't you find him anywhere?" My voice quickly rose to match my mother's worried tone.

"I haven't seen him since I went to feed the horses a half-hour ago. Your father left earlier today so you have to go looking for Goten before it gets dark!"

Excusing myself from Renea's house, I flew off toward Mt. Poaz to search for Goten. Thinking I would quickly find him in one of his little hideouts, therefore proving Mom was simply overreacting, I began to feel more than a little concerned when I didn't find my baby brother in his favorite spot. There were two areas left to check; if he wasn't there, it was safe to say panic would ensue.

"Dammit," I seethed harshly upon finding no sign of Goten in the third hiding spot. "Damn, damn." Now what? I didn't know where to start to catch on his scent, and his child's life force was too weak for me to seek out. _Where the hell is Dad? _

Goten couldn't survive out here on his own; he wasn't like our father or I, who could learn as he went and adjusted to the situation. It'd be just what I needed on my conscience, to have my little brother hurt or worse, when I had always been his guardian since his birth.

After searching for nearly an hour, the sun was just an inch away from disappearing behind the mountains and bringing with it the night. A little over two miles away from home, needless to say I was beginning to lose my composure.

As a last-ditch effort, I resorted to an instinctual tool, knowing it would stir the same instinct in Goten and give me a clue as to where he was. Inhaling a big gust of air into my lungs, I let it seep out into the night as a seeking wolf bay, listening carefully after the last note.

My silent prayer was answered by a small, barely audible howl of a pup another mile away. Holding my breath, I shot for the sound before it gave out, arriving to an empty area of forest. Where the howl could no longer guide me, the slightest trace of a scent was offered in its place, and I followed that scent fervently until I began to hear giggling. Immediately recognizing it as my brother, I eagerly took faster footsteps toward him. My tenseness didn't ease, despite such evidence my brother was unharmed.

Breaking through a thick brush, I finally found the small, pointy-haired shape of my little brother, amongst other shapes.

"Gohan!" Goten greeted me cheerfully, completely ignorant of the turmoil he caused. Wolf cubs swarmed around him, climbing on him and licking his face. Looking around, I could see the mother wolf not too far off in her own little thicket, keeping her cubs under careful eye. Upon meeting her wild gaze to mine, she stirred, walking toward her cubs and ushering them away from Goten. Once they had safely trotted away into the shadows of dusk, Goten skipped over happily to me.

"Big Brother, I want a puppy, like those!"

I knelt down to Goten's eye level, just so he could better see and feel the severity of my gaze. "Do you have any idea how worried Mom and I have been?" I asked, half-growl. The cheerful expression on my brother's face diminished to submissive shame. "What are you doing out here, this far from home, huh?" I demanded still, teeth bared. When he didn't answer, it only fuelled my frustration. "Goten, you know you're not supposed to wander away from home like this! Why did you?"

"I just wanted to see the puppies," he mumbled innocently, bowing his head to look at me with begging eyes. I bit my tongue from lashing out any more words. He was only five years old, barely; he couldn't fully comprehend the dangers of this world, or the reasons why I was so upset. Taking a deep breath, I let myself sit down in the dry earth, putting my head in my hand to calm myself from the near-heart-attack my earlier panic had brought me.

"Gohan?" Goten's tiny voice preened in my ear. His soft, small hand laid itself onto mine in an apologetic gesture. I didn't verbally answer him, but I wrapped my much larger hand around his. I lifted my head to look into his eyes.

"Don't ever do that again," I murmured in quiet firmness, my eyes telling him this was not an optional promise to seal. He gave me a solemn nod of comprehension. I picked him up, letting him crawl around and latch onto my back, and we took off for home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yay another filler chapter… ^^; Had to throw in a scene for Gohan and Goten there. Gohan loves his baby brother, after all ^-^**

**- J**

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	12. 11: Digging

**11. Digging**

**_Gohan_**

My Chemistry teacher, Mrs. Rang, announced our Advanced Placement class would be merging with a sophomore Biology class. I was bound to see other classmates from my grade, since I was the only sophomore in an Advanced Sciences class.

Mr. Smith's class were the lucky winners; a class with a high curriculum, but with a rather impatient and intolerant teacher to go with it. Mr. Smith was one of those infamous teachers every school had at least one of; a majority of the student body couldn't stand to be in the same room with him.

"Ah, good morning Mrs. Rang," a thin and gangly Mr. Smith greeted our teacher as us students stood in a single-profile line out the door. "Class, Mrs. Rang and her students are here to offer their brilliant minds to help you through this unit of study. Remember, this is a privilege and I trust you won't make these hard-working students waste their time and effort."

The two classes were divided into two-partner groups. The pairings were all random, but somehow it didn't surprise me how fate or whatever you want to call it stuck me with a very familiar student.

"Mr. Son, I think you will be better suited with Ms. Teague; you should be able to keep her in check," Mr. Smith said to me, pointing me to Jordane's typical table. Once the starting bell rang to sound off the second period of the day, Jordane hadn't crossed the threshold of the door.

_Why is she going to skip another day? She looked perfectly fine at the mall… I think this is taking the 'making it believable' thing a little too seriously. _

Regardless, class commenced without her presence, and I simply sat attentive as both teachers began to explain what the agenda was for the day. Five minutes into class, the door knob rattled and Jordane opened the door, interrupting Mr. Smith's monologue. I immediately perked up upon seeing her sheepish, embarrassed face as she observed the re-arranged classroom. A small hint of horror came to her eyes, when it was apparent she'd missed something important.

"Ms. Teague, if you are to be absent for two days, can't you ensure you at least arrive on time for your first day back?" Mr. Smith inquired disapprovingly. "Take your seat with Mr. Son and listen to the instructions for today's lab." When Jordane met my eyes, she didn't consist to lock up and freeze in disbelief as she had typically did; a bit uneasy, she fluidly—and quite hurriedly—walked across the room and sat beside me.

Energy pulsed off of her like a livewire. It was safe to say her day wasn't off to a very promising start. After Mr. Smith and Mrs. Rang finished explaining the lab, and the class was given all the supplies we'd need, the labs commenced. Well, not entirely. As Jordane rummaged through her bag, Mr. Smith was suddenly hovering over us.

"I do hope you left your sketchbook at home today, Ms. Teague. School is not for doodling random lines and daydreaming. Since Mr. Son is kind enough to be your partner for this lab, I doubt he'd appreciate you wasting his time. So, if I see any pencil contact with anything else other than your lab sheet, you can rejoin me after two o' clock today to serve some detention. Am I clear?"

I feigned disinterest in the one-sided conversation, but I couldn't help glancing at Jordane, who was stiff and red-faced, jaw tightened, staring only straight ahead and not making any eye-contact with Mr. Smith. It took a small, rigid nod from her for Mr. Smith to be satisfied and move on.

I stopped the buzzing madness in my head and just spoke the first unintelligent thing that came to my mind. "I won't tell," I said quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, Jordane fully turned her head; it didn't surprise me to find she was a little flustered and confused.

"What do you mean, you won't tell?"

_Slick. Be a little more imprecise, Gohan. _"I mean, you don't have to worry about me squealing to Mr. Smith if you want to draw."

"Oh." Jordane blinked, the slightest smirk at the corner of her lips. "Thanks, but I don't think I'll push my luck today." Wise girl. I couldn't find anything else to say, so I got us started on the lab. There were twelve samples of micro-organisms we had to identify, each in different stages of development and mutation, and then we had to decode the formula responsible for the alteration.

"Would you like to try it first?" I glanced at Jordane with a curious expression. Her lips pinched up in the corner, her eyebrows puckering a little.

"Eh, you go ahead." Since she insisted, I went ahead and put the first prepared sample on the stage of the microscope, securing it in place, and took a peek under the lens. I noticed the alignment of tetrads along the spindle pole. It was very similar to mitosis, but the alignment of the chromosomes was horizontal on the pole, rather than vertical and was a dead giveaway to phase one of meiosis.

"Metaphase one," I announced quietly, marking the name on my lab sheet. Peering over at Jordane, I saw her eyeing the microscope curiously.

"Metaphase one of meiosis?"

"Mhm."

"Can I take a look?"

"Sure." Eagerly taking the microscope, Jordane pressed her eyes against the lenses, staying there for a quick few moments before meeting my eyes with a pleased expression.

"Indeed, it's meiosis."

I took back the microscope from her and put in a new slide of cell production. Since our teachers informed us the batch of samples were a mixture of both meiosis and mitosis cell formation, there was no telling which stage I would find.

Again, judging by the presence of separated daughter cells connected to spindle fibers, it was easy for me to discern. "Anaphase," I announced, glancing up at her with raised brows, waiting for her to take her turn.

Sure enough, as if to challenge me, she inspected the sample herself. I didn't tell her if it was in meiosis or mitosis; I'd leave that for her to figure out herself. Her lips straightened from the smirk she had been wearing to a somber, thoughtful frown. I watched humorously, curious as to what her answer would be.

"It's anaphase," she verified with a prolonged breath. "From the looks of it, it's in mitosis."

Although I was genuinely surprised she came to the correct answer, I didn't outwardly express it other than with a mere arch of my brows. "How'd you come to that?"

She squinted her eyes at me, a smirk returning. "The chromosomes aren't duplicated, and there's twice as many as in meiosis. I could go on, but I don't want to bore you with what you already know."

I couldn't help a chuckle at her lighthearted mockery. "Not bad. Have you done this a thousand times before, or are you just that observant of small details?"

"I've hardly done this a thousand times," she scoffed. "There was only one occasion where my high school let us do hands-on labs in Biology. We were mostly about textbooks; I studied the stages of meiosis and mitosis from microscopic photos and whatnot."

"You have one heck of a photographic memory," I commended.

Jordane's mouth pulled up in one corner in a shy, sideways smile. "Thanks."

Being on the subject of her home-state, I couldn't keep from instigating more small-talk, just to break the awkward silence between us. The flooding rain continued to hit the window we sat by, sparking an idea. "So, are you enjoying the rainstorm we're having today?" It didn't sound so unintelligent in my head; apparently, Jordane found something amusing, for her pensive expression gave way to a small snigger. I raised a brow warily. "Something funny?"

"Of all things, you're asking me how I like the weather?"

Didn't people incorporate weather into conversation? "I guess so," I murmured awkwardly, not entirely sure if I should keep running my mouth. But if anything, I had to give a reason. "Well, I was asking because Washington is a rainy place, isn't it?" _But what if she didn't like the rain, you idiot? This is going well… _

Jordane relaxed beside me, suddenly gazing longingly out the window, despite the view being obstructed by raindrops. "It's nice," she said quietly. "I like the rain. It's calming. The world is cleaned and washed of the previous day's poisons. The world is empty when it rains; no suffocating crowds, no obnoxious kids, no absurd people…" Her bright brown eyes suddenly fluttered back to me and she coiled into herself defensively, as she always did. "Sorry," she scoffed uncomfortably. "That probably sounded less than warm and friendly."

I chuckled, rather intrigued of her elaborative view of the world under rainy skies. "It's okay," I assured her, unable to help my amused smile. For the next few minutes, we examined a couple slides each a stage of mitosis and meiosis. Jordane named off a fair few, only making one incorrect guess. Even once the lab sheet was completed, she still studied the samples carefully, as if her eyes couldn't get enough details to imprint her brain with.

As the class came nearly fifteen minutes from ending, I suddenly remembered with a jolt what I truly wanted to address with Jordane. I would have preferred to talk to someplace private, but I couldn't go until the end of the day without saying what I needed to say.

"I never got a chance to thank you." Her eyes came from the microscope to my own, waiting for me to clarify my point. "For what you did back at the fairgrounds last week, saving all the horses—including mine."

The way Jordane's eyelashes fluttered together as she blinked in modesty triggered the strangest sensation in the pit of my stomach; a slight, infectious warmth, as if I'd never seen anything so preciously simple and honest.

"You don't have to thank me," she said quietly, "Besides, you were the one who rode us out of that barn, when I would have gotten lost or fallen off, so I should be thanking you."

"But you were the one to run into that barn first and get Lightning out of his stall, buying precious minutes," I amended. "By the time I would have gotten to his stall, it would have been too late to save him, or any of the horses in his aisle." I wasn't the only one affected by such a thought; Jordane's face suddenly became solemnly melancholy. "I overheard Kendra at the fairgrounds. She said your horse back in Washington had died in a barn fire."

Full-blown sadness washed over Jordane's face, making me regret what I'd said. I'd already become fond of the bright life in her face from moments ago; the girl frowned and grimaced too much already.

"Yep," she uttered, confirming my statement.

"Another reason I want to thank you; you saved my horse when he wasn't yours to save, therefore preventing me from suffering the same loss and pain you must endure every day." For a moment, I didn't know what to do with my mouth, unsure of the words I should speak next. "Lightning is one of the few things in this world that brings me peace and contentment. He's been my best friend and companion since I was five-years-old. You probably weren't thinking of him for my sake, but that doesn't change the fact that he is still here because of you, so really, thank you."

I could tell the brutal honesty in my voice overwhelmed her as much as she may have secretly appreciated it. I wasn't faced with this scenario every day; I always had the power and opportunity to save those who were dear to me, but last week was the first time both were ruled out to something as simple as a barn fire set by a jealous trainer put out of business by his own malpractices. It was extremely rare I had to thank another for saving one of my own in my stead.

"I don't understand why people would do such a thing," Jordane murmured, staring at the microscope, but not looking into it. "Whether it's a couple spoiled brats who had their horses taken away by Animal Control or a bad trainer who sunk his own career, people burning down barns full of horses was something I thought I'd left behind in Washington. It's one of the few things here I enjoy, is the equestrian environment. People know their stuff around here; it isn't just about money, titles, and petty social standings."

It was obvious to see the world wasn't black-and-white in her eyes; there were several grays and silvers and pale crèmes—pros and cons to each situation. Perhaps in her world, grays were all she could function with; in my world, all I've ever known was black and white.

"Can I ask you something?" Our lab was completed; Jordane only continued to mess with the microscope to amuse herself.

"Sure," she answered lightly.

"Well, pardon me if I'm wrong, but whenever I see you around, you seem very detached from your surroundings, as if you really don't enjoy being here. I just can't help but wonder why you moved here in the first place, if you really want to be back in Washington." I eagerly awaited an answer, intent on relieving myself of the wondering burden I've carried since she showed up.

Sighing very gently—a sound only audible to my ears—Jordane appeared to ponder, digging for an answer herself. "It's complicated, not to mention a long story."

This dismissive answer was hardly sufficient. I hid my disappointment and shrugged patiently. "I've got the time," I assured her kindly, letting a smile seep through. I didn't bother to check the clock to see if we indeed had time; I would simply walk her to her next class if our conversation would carry on past the mid-morning bell.

Jordane's small lips pursed; I could hear her finger tapping at the blacktop table. "My family had to sell our business. My mother tried to work under the new owners, and I even decided to work there full time, but the women who bought our business had no idea how to run it, so we were understaffed, our wages were cut… I was getting no more than three hours of sleep most days because I'd have to work overtime with my mom and stay up all night getting caught up on schoolwork. This real estate company decided to hire her for their branch out here, and my mom couldn't find any other job, so…"

I tried to word my next question carefully. "What about your father? Isn't he around?"

Jordane shook her head indifferently. "No. My dad died right before I was born. The one time my mom dated, it was her long-time ex from way before my dad, but that didn't work out, so it's always been her and I." Before either of us could get another word out of our mouths, the bell rang. When the class cleared out, I stuck with Jordane, walking behind her and moving to walk beside her once we were out in the hallway.

"If you didn't want to move, why didn't you just stay with a relative?" It seemed perfectly reasonable to assume a teen would live with another relative or even a friend if their parents chose to move while they did not.

Jordane kept at my pace, a little slower than usual for me, but I wasn't in a hurry to get to third period just yet. "Well, it's as I said before; my mom never found another guy in her life, so she'd have no one to keep her company or anything. I mean, she has trouble sleeping when I stay over at my grandparents' or even my best friend's right next door. I couldn't let her move across the globe without me." Her tone was very neutral, as if she had already made herself numb toward the ordeal. "Besides, it's not like I'll never go back to Washington again; we have plans to visit every few months, and we still have our house there."

"But you're still unhappy with being here," I concluded, my observations of her these past three weeks sticking with me. I didn't realize she'd stopped at her locker until she turned her eyes away from me to sort out her lock combination.

"I have my good days and bad days."

"Which have you tended to have more of?" I couldn't stop digging now; I had to know if she was a flight risk. I cursed when Jordane's posture suddenly changed—stiffened—her expression just as weary when she turned to face me.

"So far, they seem to be of even occurrence." The halls were thick with traffic around us, but neither of us seemed to mind the tight quarters as we continued to stare each other down intently, both trying to decode one another, but having equally strong defenses.

"I should probably get going. I don't need to be late for another class." Jordane closed her locker and giving a slight "see you" nod, she walked off in the completely opposite direction as my next class. Good; I had no reason or excuse to continue following her.

But even before I so much as turned on my heel to head for third period, I knew it would not be the last time I'd see Jordane Teague that day.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A little classroom conversation… **

**- J**

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	13. 12: Gluttony

**12. Gluttony**

**_Jordane_**

My quarrels from earlier that morning had completely disappeared and were instead replaced by the lingering memory of that sixty-five-minute class period with Gohan in Biology. Of course, I was fated to be his lab partner, but his expertise did actually come in handy. Regardless, I was in a ditch between intrigued and totally freaked out.

This was different than our conversation at the stables last week; horses were our topic of conversation then, something we were both comfortable and familiar with. Today was personal; as to why he was so curious about my sob-story and why I ended up here was beyond me.

It wasn't 'til this morning, however, did I finally see truth to Renea's words about Gohan being different than his outward persona. The way he treaded so carefully over his own words and became ruffled whenever I'd ask him something was rather enlightening. His behavior outside my locker made me catch drift that he never meant to show such outward expressions to mirror what he was thinking or feeling. In the end, though, nothing stopped either one of us from trying to get into each other's heads.

It was that comprehensive moment during Art class I realized Gohan and I were quite alike in more ways than one; whether this was a good or bad thing, the jury was still out on that. The conundrum, however, wouldn't keep me from filling my tray full of food during lunch. While standing in the checkout line behind Kendra, I briefly and randomly glanced over in the direction of the Alphas' table. I took a second look when I realized one face was missing—_the_ face.

Upon exiting the line and making our way toward our table, I took quick scans around the cafeteria for Gohan.

"Jordane," his voice popped into my ear, making me stop in my tracks. Sure enough, I found him standing next to an empty table just a few blocks from his friends. He seemed more relaxed in comparison to how I left him earlier that morning, but his black eyes still locked on me in a sea of hundreds.

"Come sit with me," he encouraged lightly. I didn't move, stunned by his invitation.

"Jordane?" Kendra poked me in the arm. "Hey, miss zombie, have you honestly forgotten where our table is already?" For a moment, she was quiet before I heard a slight murmur in her heartbeat. "Why is Gohan staring at you…again?" She wouldn't have known why; Gohan's request was audible to my ears only. To everyone else, it would have looked as if he were talking to himself—or rather an invisible friend—because his mouth was moving, but nothing would be heard.

I honestly didn't know what to say to Kendra, so I simply shrugged at her and walked toward Gohan. As I closed the distance between us, I didn't miss the suspicious and curious gazes from those around me that only continued to intensify when I sat down opposite of Gohan at the table. Scarfing down my pizza and mixed foods lunch had taken the backseat, while Gohan went ahead and began eating his pasta dish; obviously leftovers, but it still smelled delicious.

I cleared my throat. "What's up?" He looked at me in an honest easiness, shrugging one shoulder.

"Nothing's 'up'; I just thought this would be an easier way to talk. You did say you wanted to ask me questions still."

I randomly took a swig of my sparkling water just so I wouldn't look like such a moron. I hated to always second-guess him; he's proved already he's a nice person, but people didn't do this with me. They didn't hand-pick me out of the litter of juveniles upon the spontaneous desire to help me out in some shape or form.

"Okay then," I said, tapping the cap of my water bottle. I racked my brain for non-invasive, simple questions to ask him. It'd been so long since I've made new "friends", I'd almost forgotten how to converse with new people. "Should I start, then?"

"If you'd like."

I quickly thought of something basic off the top of my head. "Okay…other than equestrianism and science and martial arts, what else is part of your everyday interest?"

Gohan's lips pulled up at the corner, flustering me with how subtly handsome the small gesture made him look. He took a bite of pasta and washed it down before answering. "Simple things. Reading is always nice, but taking a walk in the woods outside my house is even nicer."

I was suddenly reminded of our wolfen encounter a couple weeks ago on the trail. "How far outside of the city do you live?"

"Quite a ways," he said lightly, almost cautiously. "From here to my house, it's about a two-hour car drive."

My reaction was probably why he was so hesitant to explain; wide-eyed gapes of surprise must have been a typical expression he was used to seeing. "You drive two hours to come to school?" Nodding with a slight hum, he suddenly reached for his water bottle and took a swig, his eyes not leaving mine, but still wary. "Wow. Talk about dedication, I guess. Why aren't you just homeschooled?"

"I used to be, when I was younger. My mother had me enroll in school when I was twelve."

"Seventh grade? That's the worst time to enroll is in middle school. At least, based off my experiences."

The slight chuckle that came from Gohan diffused the awkward tension. "Trust me, it is awkward, no matter what way you slice it. Vince and the others helped make it a little more bearable, though. They helped me adjust."

The feeling was very mutual. "Thank goodness for friends, it's all I can say."

"Do you have a pack in Washington?"

"Yes, but they're not an actual wolf pack. They're all human." Rather than surprise, the expression that Gohan's face was instead pleasant, as if he knew what it was like to be accepted by ordinary people. "It was hard to leave them," I continued, nibbling absently on a pizza crust.

"Saying goodbye to friends is always hard," Gohan agreed, empathy thick in his voice. Actually, I couldn't tell if it was really empathy or pity. "What about the rest of your family? How come no one else moved with you?"

"Because they're all content where they're at, I suppose. The only people I really miss are my grandparents and my uncles and cousin. But I'll be seeing them again soon, hopefully." Upon the thought, I had the sudden, fierce ache to fly to Washington right then and there, as if it were only a short car-ride away. The change in attitude lessened my appetite.

Gohan never missed the slightest alteration in my behavior. "Are you okay?" He sounded as curious as he did concerned, but even then it was as if he made sure not to express too much emotion.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Neither of us pushed it. Instead, Gohan moved on to ask me what I did in my spare time. I was honest, saying I liked to do a variety of things; draw, write, take pictures, workout, fight, read…

"Oh, so that must have been your piece I saw in the south hall the other day," Gohan claimed when I'd mentioned a couple of my art pieces had been put on display in the school, much to the insistence of my art teacher.

"Which one was it?" I asked curiously. I never felt comfortable boasting, but I always enjoyed hearing feedback on what people thought of my creations.

"It was the black and white pencil sketch of the horse head collage."

"Oh! That one was done in graphite."

"It's nice," Gohan said with another smile. "Has Renea showed you any of her works? It's a bit different than your style and subject, but…"

"I've seen Renea's sketches. She's real good; society needs to have more fashion designers like her these days." On top of being a horseman, a fashion designer, and an academic genius, Renea had so many likeable qualities about her; I was surprised everyone in the whole school wasn't fighting to be her best friend.

Gohan was either extremely curious or had a habit of interrogating people, because he popped one question after another, before I shifted the tone of the conversation to other Saiyan-related questions.

"Did you always know you were a Saiyan?"

"No. I didn't know what a Saiyan was until I was around five years old, and my father didn't find out what he was until he was a young adult."

"Was he the one that coached you with your powers?"

"Not at first. My first mentor was a…family friend, I guess. But from there, yes, my father helped me hone my powers through the years."

"What, exactly, is a Saiyan? I mean, what's the history behind their existence?"

"It's not a pretty history. They were, to put it simply, space pirates. From what I've heard, they shared a planet with another race, which they wiped off to the point of extinction, and claimed the planet for their own. From there, they built an empire, working in trade and intergalactic business. Saiyans were less businessmen, though, and were more the hired muscle that got the job done. In other words…lots of killing and annihilating."

"Oh," I peeped. It was one of those facts that changed the outlook one had on life; I may not have known a great deal about Saiyans, but the idea of them being killers and monsters—in every form of the word—never crossed my mind. Then again, what else did I really expect? That they were just a bunch of jolly, peace-loving people, with all the great power they possessed?

"Yep," Gohan uttered, pursing his lips together, as if he shared my distaste for our heritage. I was more than sure he wasn't proud of it. "So, is that all the questions you have?"

"For now," I answered quietly. He smiled again, but as if in an attempt to hide it, he bowed his head and brought his water bottle to take a drink.

It was impossible for me not to notice the alert stares of suspicion and disbelief from other students as Gohan and I walked down the halls together to Mr. Banderaz's class, as if it was blasphemy Gohan was accompanied by any new person outside his pack. It made me uneasy at first, but the more it reoccurred, the less I felt nervous and just became flat-out irritated.

Gohan was quiet during class, which was a bit of a relief. I was running out of answers to his questions and questions to ask him; I told new people only so much about my personal life when asked. As to what was so interesting about me in which he decided to start these Q and A's, I couldn't understand. I was glad that he was happy I tried to save Lightning at the fairgrounds, but it seemed odd for him to break his stoic and silent mode to such a degree.

Once English class was over, I couldn't keep my thoughts from getting any louder when Gohan had followed me out of the class, walking beside me, despite the fact he _always_ went in the opposite direction of my next class.

It was so damn confusing being so torn; the shy, awkward part of me couldn't help but be appalled at how he was pursuing me as an acquaintanceship. However, another part of me wanted to be comfortable around him, because, in some odd way—despite all the attention I was getting from our fellow school-mates—being around him made me feel…safe.

Why the hell would I need to feel safe? I've always taken care of myself, backed down for nobody. It was then I wondered just what vibe was I giving off to Gohan, talking to him like this?

The rest of the day dragged on miserably; every five minutes I was looking at the clock, knowing I only had so much time before I would rejoin Gohan in P.E. What would his behavior be like then? I found it difficult to think he would invite me over to hang with him, Ian and Vince, nor did I think he'd abandon them just to hang with me alone.

Turned out, he would alternate between the two; when our paths were close enough to cross, he would pop by and ask me random questions, such as how I was doing in putting up my P.E. teacher Ms. Lang, what sports I liked to play, how long I'd been training in martial arts and kickboxing, etcetera.

"Have you ever entered in any contests or tournaments?" Knowing he was referring to my fighting experience, I answered his question without hesitation.

"No, I'm not a showman. My training is mostly for hobby." My voice trailed off awkwardly, for I was about to add "self-defense", but I didn't need him pitying me more than he already was. Either he pitied me for my loneliness or for my pathetic Saiyan nature, I didn't know, but it was beginning to irritate me.

Well, maybe not near as much as the stares and murmurs our fellow classmates shot our way. I wanted to flip them all the bird. They needed to mind their own freaking business.

When P.E. ended and I found a patiently waiting Gohan outside the locker-room, he insisted he walk me to my car to ask me one last thing. "Renea and I were talking and thought maybe you'd like to join us for a trail ride this weekend on her property."

This intriguing little invitation barely distracted me from my previous train of thought, as much as I wanted to take him up on the offer. "I suppose," I replied, unsure. I must have not hid my occupied frame of mind as effectively as I thought; Gohan's facial expression shifted to that fixated, confused frown I'd seen so many times before.

"Something wrong?"

I was on the verge of just dropping it, but being the demanding, curious girl I was, I couldn't help myself. "Why have you gone out of your way all day to talk to me?"

Gohan's thick brows furrowed, his lips pursed together. "I thought I already told you; I've never quite met someone like you—a Saiyan hybrid, I mean. Besides my little brother and his age-mate, you're the only Saiyan hybrid I've ever met. It's interesting." His answer sounded easy and honest enough, but it wasn't enough for me.

"Really, that's it? It wouldn't happen to be because I've come off as a fragile, pathetic and sad little girl who may need some big, strong boy to protect her, in which you want to volunteer for the job?" There was a touch more cynicism to my tone than I'd intended, but I was tired; I was ready to go home, and I was dissatisfied of always constantly being in the dark with a mystery lingering around in my conscience.

There was a sudden sharp action to Gohan's brow, his eyes narrowing in something akin to flustered incredulousness. I waited for his answer as he tilted his head, glancing off to the side pavement. "Are you implying that you think I am pursuing you?"

It sounded right, for the most part. "I can't think of any other reason as to why you'd make such a drastic change as to start hanging out with me for the whole day when all month you've been treating me like everybody else by ignoring me." I folded my arms around my chest, my expression vacant for the time being.

Gohan scoffed, a very light, non-intrusive sound. "Well, excuse me, but I thought that's how people made friends; break the ice and talk to one another. Besides, I thought maybe you'd like to have someone to talk to, since you've appeared to be rather lonely from the day you arrived here-"

"That's the thing," I interrupted him, my pride seeping into my motivation. "I appreciate the notion of being nice to me, but I don't need you trying to be my friend just because I appear lonely. I don't need you to take pity on me."

"I wasn't taking pity on you," Gohan retorted, his harsh tone dissolved for a moment.

"Your actions said what you didn't need to with words. If people want to be my friend, I want it to be because they want to know me for the sake of knowing me, not to help me feel welcome or feel less miserable with myself. I've never needed extra muscle to deal with my own problems, and I certainly don't need it now."

The boy was quicker to play than I thought. "Oh, really?" Gohan inquired with a low but stern tone, his expression hardening, "Then let me ask you this; if you don't want people to feel bad for you or pity you then why the heck do you act so pitiful? Sulking in class, sitting in a corner all by yourself, carrying a frown on your face all the time; Kendra took pity on you because you're the new girl who's halfway across the globe from home, and Renea took pity on you because you're alone without any of your kin to accept you. So pardon me if because I'm of the male gender, I'm not allowed to take pity on you like everybody else, just because you _think_ I'm actually pursuing you for an ulterior reason." His words were a sharp, cracking whip lash in my mind, only feeding fuel to the small spark of my pride.

"You've got some nerve," I growled, unable to think of anything intelligent to say.

"No, _you've_ got some nerve, accusing me of hounding you like some hormone-driven skirt-chaser. I've heard people say a lot of things about me, but that's a first."

"Exactly," I snapped, "Everyone's always been telling me ever since I came here, 'He keeps to himself, he isn't interested in dating anyone', 'He's nice, but he doesn't go out of his way to talk to people'; that's all I've heard about you. And, according to what Renea told me, she, Vince, and the others all found you; you haven't made any attempt to 'get to know' people since then. Yet, here you were today, asking me questions throughout the entire class period, walking me across school to my classes—even if they were across the campus from yours—and you even made time in P.E. to linger around me. Where I come from, people don't just hang around someone like that unless they're interested in some form or another. So, you either are interested in me, or you take pity on me, or hell, maybe it's both. But it isn't something as trivial and simple as 'I was curious', not for a person like you."

I either made the wrong assumption and insulted him beyond belief, or I caught him off guard and hit it dead-on, because his face froze into the scowl of a dark gothic statue. Suddenly, I could see where the intimidation factor came from in the persona he presented to the world. "So, in one day, you think you've figured out how my mind works, huh?" The tolerance in his voice was just about traceless, but I didn't falter, not this far into the quarrel.

"I'm pretty good at reading people."

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, your judgment isn't near as good as you think."

"My observations from today tell me otherwise, pal," I growled, stretching out my neck as a way to puff myself up.

"Well, if this is how you're going to treat me for coming out of my shell to help you out, then I'd just assume to never so much as look at you again."

"That's just fine by me!" I lashed, storming off to my car, which was closer than I'd realized.

"Fine!" Gohan roared back, his features twisted in a displeased, irritated scowl. I could have sworn I saw his canine fangs bared; so, in return, I bared mine.

"FINE!" With that final scream, I plopped inside my car, slamming the door shut, and I immediately turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine to echo my frustration as I passed him by.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, everything was going good until Jordane had to overanalyze the situation and open her mouth xD The ice has been broken, though, regardless…we'll see where this takes them. **

**- J**

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	14. 13: Intolerance

**13. Intolerance**

**_Gohan_**

_What the hell was I thinking?_ I seethed, sitting in my idle car in the school parking lot, much to the protest of my fellow pack mates. I surely was not anywhere near the mood to explain what just happened five minutes ago, nor was I willing to put up with the sneering jokes from my pack brothers.

I couldn't believe that girl had the nerve to declare such nonsense to my face. I knew I couldn't have been giving her any implications of _that_ kind of interest. Who knew, maybe she's that into herself to assume every male who even so much as said "Hello" was into her. Somehow, I couldn't imagine this being so, but how in the world should I know anything of who this girl really is? The only thing I've managed to discover about her is that she's just as stubborn and defensive as I was, with some surplus attitude to spare.

I should have just left the girl alone. Yes, I felt sorry for her, because I knew what it was like to come to a new school, alone and confused without anyone to talk to, but she made it quite clear she wouldn't accept anyone's charity—at least, no one of the male gender, anyways.

Once at home, my sour mood didn't wane, which only aggravated me further. Being affected at home only made me feel more bitterness towards Jordane. I despised the effect she had on me, even in the sanctuary of my own home.

_That's what you get for stepping outside of your bubble. _

"Son, what's the matter?" Even my simple-minded father noticed my shifty, tense attitude. Since we were out in the privacy of the barn with the horses, I didn't have to worry about any hounding remarks from my mother. Sighing, I rested my chin on Lightning's back, pausing to find the right words to describe my day.

"I'm having a bit of trouble with another werewolf in my school. I told you about that Saiyan hybrid, the girl?"

"Oh! You mean Jordane, that girl who works at the stables?"

Nodding, I continued, "I tried talking to her today, trying to get to know her a little better; at the end of the day, she accused me of pursuing her in an…inappropriate manner."

"Pursuing?" There was that clueless expression that gave me the cue to explain myself.

"She thought I was interested in dating her, and that it was the only reason I was being nice to her."

"Well, that's silly." _It's ridiculous. _But I suppose if there were a simple word to sum up the ordeal, I suppose "silly" would do. After all, the drama would die down eventually. Hopefully.

* * *

><p><em>What am I doing? <em>I asked myself miserably, deviating from my Chemistry class. I've never skipped a class ever in my life, but I knew today I would be partnered with Jordane in labs again. I wanted to stay as far away from her as possible.

Thankfully, I knew the security guards' rounds by heart, and managed to avoid them as I strolled aimlessly around the halls, trying to find a way to kill time. _Perhaps I should fly out of here and get an early lunch or something. _

"Gohan?"

I was relieved to find it was my pack sister Renea who'd called my name, but in moments, I would be disconcerted by her presence. "You know, you really shouldn't be so hard on Jordane," she told me after our first conversation had ended.

"Oh, so you're defending her now, Rea?" I growled in discontentment, leaning against the wall underneath the stairwell.

"I'm just saying maybe you should stop being such a defensive hot-head and give her a chance. Actually, you're both defensive and hot-headed, so it is going to be quite difficult to get one of you to be the bigger person and stop this ridiculous game—"

"It's not a game, Rea; she made an idiotic accusation against me and got herself worked up when there was nothing to get worked up about!" Always having to explain myself again and again was beginning to wear on my patience; why couldn't everyone just leave me be? But no, my getting in a quarrel with another Saiyan hybrid—a girl, no less—was worth the buzz amongst my pack. Perhaps if they would all stop trying to play matchmaker, I wouldn't be so uptight.

"I have no time for someone like her, Renea. She's just an obstinate, immature, unstable girl who can't control her emotions!"

My pack sister's shoulders slouched in disappointment, her face reflecting the expression in all its power. "Everyone else in the pack likes her, Gohan; she may have some issues, but hey she's only human—as are you." She rolled her eyes upon my cynical expression. "You know what I mean. It was an obvious misunderstanding between the two of you—"

"Obviously," I sighed disgracefully, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. "Renea, she's made it perfectly clear she doesn't want my concern or attention, so I just won't bother. You guys can go ahead and harbor her if you want; but I want her to be kept out of my hair." She was utterly displeased with my attitude, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Chemistry wasn't the only class I'd ditched that day; I excused myself from Mr. Banderaz's class using a small fib of not feeling well. As for P.E, I simply left the campus to sit in my car until the school day was over. However, once home, the drama wasn't over. I had to tell my parents why I was in such a foul mood. Of course, I neglected to mention the fact I skipped three classes; that wouldn't sit too well with my mother. Regardless, she and my father alike tried to coax me into reconsidering about Jordane.

"Then it was just a misunderstanding, Gohan; that's how girls are when they think boys like them," my mother explained harmlessly as she tended to the several pots on the stove.

"But Mother, I _don't_ like her."

"Why not?" she snapped in distaste. "She's beautiful, very nice, not to mention respectful and well-mannered."

_Then we must not be talking about the same girl._ "Renea, Vince, and I were going to go trail riding with her; at least, before she cut me off with this rubbish. I wasn't even asking her on a date and she bit my head off." I slammed my water glass down on the table, sending a crack up to the lip when my mother continued on with how she thought Jordane would be a good match for me, listing each reason and comparing it with my own traits.

"Well, I don't know about dating, but I've got to say, she _is_ a nice girl," Dad expressed, his eyes still fixated on the stove. "She's alone an awful lot, though, it's kind of sad." My point exactly.

Groaning, I leaned back in my chair, my hands over my face. "What's the matter, Big Bwrother?" Goten asked, filled with curious concern.

"Nothing, squirt," I assured him with a smile. "Just a headache, that's all." One helluva headache…

* * *

><p>I couldn't keep skipping class forever; switching classes was definitely not an option, either. So, into the new week, I would just grin and bear it—figuratively, of course—and continue on my routine at school. Jordane's presence didn't get under my skin to the same extent, but it still made it difficult to relax whenever I was near her.<p>

Although I did my best to avoid crossing paths with her, she still landed in my line of sight throughout the day, with our close proximity in English being beside the point. She walked at an aggressive pace, her eyes glaring with intent, as if she had every intention of avoiding me as I did her. In some instances, she appeared troubled or just flat-out confused.

Walking down the hall with Vince for our classes, I could see Jordane walking toward us further down the hall. I kept my eyes beyond her, gazing out to my environment as a whole, rather than focusing on her. To my mortification, I wouldn't be successful, for I felt her eyes flicker to me, and some pathetic instinct drew my eyes to hers. Her stare was defiant, but not as intense as it had been in the days prior.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Vince wave; he was obviously smiling, for a modest yet warm smile came to Jordane's face, her eyes meeting Vince in acknowledgement. The encounter lasted only milliseconds, and the gesture may not have been for me, but the imprint of her smile lingered in my head.

I kept backtracking to our little stand-off in the parking lot and the events leading up to it that day; recalling each question asked, each answer given, and even the smaller, random notes added here and there.

Maybe I had come on too strong, or gave off an inclination I hadn't meant to, the little voice in my head considered. With all the rumors she'd heard of me, could I really blame her for thinking there was another meaning behind my intentions of socializing with her?

I continued observing her, being careful not to be caught; the way she and Kendra talked about such trivial, random things and how she fell silent when at the lunch table with Lacey and the others, right down to how she and Renea would work together in labs. Even with my presence in the same class, they were too wrapped up in the work they did together, even cracking a mocking remark about Mr. Smith in between.

Every now and then, Renea would throw me a scolding look, and I'd return it with a disciplinary glare. I couldn't believe this. Not that I'd go as far as to say Jordane was coming between me and my friends, but my little quarrels with her certainly landed me in the dog house with my pack; they all either adored her or thought her not all bad. At least Renea understood she was just as stubborn as I was, but even that didn't earn me her approval.

In other instances, it'd look as though she and Jordane were engaged in a rather somber conversation. In one brief instance, Renea glanced at me and waved her hand dismissively in my direction. I raised my brow. Were they talking about me?

I couldn't hear them distinctively due to all the clamor in the class as everyone packed up to leave. Sighing, I packed my books and notebooks, just thankful this class merger was over.

Someone quickly veered toward my desk, but only lingered long enough to drop a piece of paper on the black-top. I looked up, and found Renea walking to rejoin the rest of the students that swarmed for the door. I didn't notice Jordane anywhere nearby.

Grabbing the little note, I unfolded it and read what Renea wrote:

_You__'__re missing out._

A part of me knew what she was referring to, given the conversation I had with her a few days ago. She thought I had something to gain by being friends with Jordane; I didn't see how, even if we did look past our differences in opinion and forgave each other for being so hot-headed with one another.

_You can't deny, though, that connecting with her was nice—that helping her by answering questions she never thought she'd find answers to felt good, _that subconscious identity pestered; the identity that was more the voice of selfish desire rather than a voice of reason or wisdom.

With a snort, I shoved the paper in my pocket as I rose from my chair and went on my way.

"Having a rough day?" Vince inquired after my pencil tapping had become more than irate.

"Leave it to Renea," I grumbled, still tapping my pencil against my notebook.

"Oh, boy, what did she do now?" He chuckled, carrying a smirk. I could only groan, running my fingers through my hair. "Seriously, what did she do?"

"Nothing…except being the over-zealous peace-keeper that she always is."

"Ah. I take it this has something to do with all this drama with Jordane, huh?"

"How in the world did you guess?" I griped sarcastically. To my relief, he didn't carry on with the subject; in the middle of class definitely was not the place to stir up my already agitated temper.

English was unbearable, even more than the previous days, if that was at all possible. Not because of the close proximity with Jordane, but the annoying thoughts and doubts that rang in my head. For some illogical reason, the stale wordlessness between her and I felt…wrong. My mouth ached to open and utter words, but I had no idea what I even wanted to say.

_It's not an apology, _I grunted.

Against my better judgment, I often found myself giving in to my prying curiosity and glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. I watched her for far longer than I should have; the way her eyes flicked between the text in our book and her notepad, the tactful and deliberate strokes of her wrist as she sketched random designs, the miraculously detached, but not entirely calm, stare on her face. All of those details I grudgingly analyzed, and recalled what it was like to see her lips move and hear her voice to accompany the motion, and the expressions that would flash across her face with each conversation; it only intensified my desire to speak.

This time, I was the first—and quickest—out of my seat the very instant the bell rang.

* * *

><p>After I finished my homework that night and ate dinner, I left for a walk in the trails out of boredom. Whenever my mind was racing a million miles an hour, I couldn't stand to sit still; I needed to move.<p>

It wasn't entirely a conscious decision, but I found myself at the clearing of the Roses' property, and suddenly, the spontaneous thought of venting to my eldest pack sister felt too assuring to pass up. The French doors to her bedroom were open, letting in the sweet, warming spring air. I levitated up to the cozy balcony, and presented myself with a light knock to the door with two knuckles. Sure enough, Renea's cheery face popped out from the corner.

"Hey, you. If you're looking for Vince, he's in the gym—"

"I actually came to talk to you," I said modestly.

She blinked, resigned. "I suppose if you were looking for him, you would have come in through the front door. So what's up?"

I sat down on the edge of her bed, while she continued sewing the dress she was working on at her desk. From the looks of it, it was a summer dress, one she'd wear for a casual outing on lukewarm summer evenings. The fleecy fabric was a lavish emerald green with thin gold tendril threads interweaving.

"I think I'm losing my nerve," I confessed tightly. Deviating focus from her project, Renea looked at me, brow raised.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Jordane, would it?" It may have been a question, but I could tell by the catch in her voice that she already knew.

"Do I really have to answer?" I grumbled cynically, bracing my hands behind my head.

Setting the dress on her desk, she sat down in her chair across from me. "You know, I've been racking my brain trying to figure out why the two of you are butting heads so much when you appeared to get along real well, but the answer lies just in that. You two are so much the same person, it works against you guys as much as it lets you get along."

I was about to object to her statement, but I couldn't deny it, because she was right. I pursed my mouth to keep it shut. Somehow, despite my efforts, I couldn't help but feel as though she could already see it in my face.

"How much longer are you going to keep up this standoffish, macho tough-guy act? You and I both know it's not who you are, it's just not in your nature." When I didn't answer, she continued, her voice remaining quiet, but rising in passion and purpose. "I mean, don't you want to get to know the one and only person on this planet that shares the same cocktail of bloodlines as you? To have someone who has the best of both worlds like you, without having to bounce back and forth between two worlds, two societies, two groups?"

"I won't deny the idea is…intriguing, but Renea, how am I supposed to like her when she's too proud to even let me be her friend? How am I supposed to befriend a girl who interprets my being nice to her as me trying to get in her pants—?"

"She's past that, you know," she interrupted me. "Actually, the way she put it, is she's mortified the more she thinks about it. With her being as proud as she is, I doubt she'd want me to telling you that, but… Besides, if the situation was reversed, you cannot tell me you wouldn't have done the same, accusing her of pursuing you as more than a friend if she started hanging around you more than she did anyone, being nice and social to you, out of the blue?"

About to counter her remark, my mouth opened, but froze that way, for I couldn't reel in the words to make a valid contradiction. To be honest, I couldn't entirely deny that I wouldn't have acted similarly if I was in Jordane's shoes… Still, I was peeved at her for reacting the way she did, transforming from a quiet, reserved, respectful girl and into a blabbering, confrontational mess.

"See?" Renea said gently, no mockery in her voice, but there was still conviction. "You both need to smooth this out, you have a chance to be a part of something that could be special—"

"Oh, for the Moon's sake, Renea, don't even go there—"

"I'm not talking about romantically, so cool your jets. She told me you were helping her get a better understanding of Saiyans—something she barely knows anything about, and knowing the way you like to help people, you can't tell me that you didn't feel good by aiding in her ability to comprehend her heritage, to get to know a part of herself, that nobody has been able to give her in her life."

"Okay, it felt nice to help her out and to interact with her, but what does that have to do with anything, Rea?"

"It has everything to do with it, Gohan! I know you have your reasons to keep your distance from people, but—"

"You're right, I _do_ have my reasons, reasons no one else has to understand but me," I said, my tone even and remarkably calm.

"I want to understand it, Gohan; it was because of your reasons that we nearly lost you when you tried to shut us out of your life!" Renea stared at me intently, her brows furrowed with lingering concern. "You're family to me—the closest thing to a brother I've ever had—I didn't want to lose you then, and I don't want to lose you now. And I don't want you to push someone away like you tried to do to me and Vince three years ago…"

The tension in the room dimmed down to a choking, melancholy air that prodded at my heart. _I failed the last time. _By the time I decided to stay away from Renea and Vince, I had already known them for two years, and had become so bonded to them that I couldn't stay away; I wound up returning to them to be a part of their family, in turn sealing their fates… As long as they were a part of my life, and I a part of theirs, they would always be in danger. I couldn't afford to have it happen again.

"It's my life, it's my decision to make," I finally declared, keeping my eyes on the floor. With a defeated sigh, Renea didn't continue with the matter. She rose from the chair and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside me. Her arm locked itself around mine, her head resting on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just want you to finally have the happiness you deserve."

I didn't reply, only tilting my head so my cheek rested on her temple, her hair soft on my skin and the smell of apple calming me.

I'd forgotten how long it'd been since I leaned on someone—both figuratively and literally. I suppose even a Saiyan needed someone to lean on every once in a while, even if only for a brief moment.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was a dismal 4 pages long, but then I recently added that little heart-to-heart between Gohan and Renea in her bedroom at the end. Kind of foreshadows on the ever-present responsibility he feels for those he cares for, and the fear/paranoia of getting them hurt because of his arrogance/weakness/inability to make the right choice, etc., which does sort of draw back to the original makeup in the anime. At least, I can only hope I'm writing it well enough to be so! **

**- J**

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	15. 14: Well, This is Just Great

**14. Well, This is Just Great**

**_Jordane_**

_I should have just stayed home today… _With each ticking minute of the day, my mind was screaming in agony, begging for mercy. As if my day wasn't off to a worse start; first, I've had the most horrid night's sleep for days, so I woke up only a half-hour before school began, unable to eat breakfast and was literally running out the door and speeding through traffic. And yet, I was still fifteen minutes late; thankfully, Mr. Nikle didn't give me much grief for it, but upon coming to Biology, my gut coiled with dread upon not finishing—nor being able to find—my homework. The assignment was worth twenty-five-percent of our grade; a quiz of sorts. As to how I forgot it and left it at home, I had no clue, but when I caught up with Renea during class break, she distracted me from the dilemma.

"I'm sorry Gohan's being a bit problematic," she apologized. "I tried talking to him, but he's pretty set in his ways. He's so impossible when he gets like this, which isn't too often, but..." Disapproval and empathy were evident in her voice; I was abruptly reminded of Gohan's blunt words regarding pity. I hadn't reacted near as aggressively when Kendra, Renea, or any of the other girls would express sympathy for my situation. My pride winced upon my conscience's prodding at the tender bruise. As much as I wanted to deny it, he had a valid point.

"Just forget about it, Renea. It was my fault this whole mess started; I don't want it to cause friction in your group." Even if Gohan was being a bit dramatic about the whole situation, I still caused all the drama because I couldn't keep my impulsive, defensive thoughts to myself.

Renea tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "Are you sure you're okay? You know you can always talk to me, if you need to." Her assurance was comforting. It would feel good to be able to vent to someone new. With Amanda having her own issues, I didn't want to burden her with my own petty problems. Her demeanor continued to shift like night and day; it was difficult to keep up with her while keeping my own spirit and emotions in check.

I couldn't slip out of the class quick enough once the bell had rung. "Ms. Teague," Mr. Smith's cold voice called out, just before I crossed the threshold to the hallway. Clutching my jaw tight, I turned on my heel, avoiding other students as they flooded out of the class and I stood in front of Mr. Smith's desk. He looked up at me with brown eyes hard as stone.

"I couldn't help but notice your name is absent from any of these papers I received today. Is there a reason as to why you didn't turn yours in?"

Swallowing, I quickly debated if I should tell him the truth or make up a different excuse, to avoid looking like a fool. Nothing clever came to mind, unfortunately. "I really don't know what happened, but I think I left it at home."

When any other teacher I know would have simply said, "All right, then please turn it in tomorrow so I can give you the credit", Mr. Smith continued to stare me down callously. "Well, this is disappointing. You do realize this assignment was worth a quarter of your grade?"

"Yes, but—"

"Buts are for ashtrays, Ms. Teague. Your slacking attitude is becoming most distasteful."

_Slacking?_ "Um, Mr. Smith, I've only been tardy for class once, and I've been turning in every assignment with the exception of today—"

"I require my students to take this course seriously, Ms. Teague; not to go off daydreaming, doodling, or listening to music during class-time. I strongly suggest you handle the next assignment with more diligence, to prevent another gap in your already dwindling grade."

I could taste hints of blood in my mouth, virtually incoherent to the fact my incisor teeth had punctured my tongue, struggling with all my might to keep my mouth shut. After giving me another chastising statement, Mr. Smith had excused me, making me a few minutes late for my art class. Thankfully, my art teacher didn't hold it against me.

My binder and bag were such a mess from my digging through it in Biology; I had to tear through it once again to find my sketchbook to work on my latest piece for Art class. Using the last five minutes of the class to re-organize my book-bag, I tried to stuff my papers neatly into random folds, just so assignments wouldn't get lost or ruined. I'd make it all nice and pretty and orderly once I was home.

The only challenge left was finding room to put my sketchbook and binder; so, as I walked out of the classroom in a herd of bustling teenagers, I tried to balance my bag on my hip, struggling to find enough space to put my remaining things in. I didn't want to have to hold on to them at lunch, because I'd already have my hands full.

I thought I was clear to head out for the door, but I wasn't the only one not paying attention; another student bumped into me in the threshold, and the toe of my boot caught on the door-jam. I went staggering forward, and the open sleeve of my bag allowed all the contents to spill out. Students merely avoided the flood of papers and books while I quickly regained my footing. I inhaled deeply, barely resisting the urge to punch a hole in the wall and scream, and I bent after my papers, trying to collect them quickly while avoiding being stepped on by others.

Standing up to see where else my belongings had escaped to, I bumped into Kyle Davis, who held a good amount of papers and my sketchbook in his hands. "Took quite a trip, I take it?" he chuckled kindly, holding on to everything for me while I simply stuffed it all back into my bag.

"Thanks," I said in gratitude. My eyes darted to his hands, alarmed when he had my sketchbook open, browsing through the pages of my visual diary without even asking for permission.

"I didn't know you were a drawer. You're pretty good."

"Drawer"… I couldn't stand it when people used that word. I mumbled "thanks" again, grabbing my sketchbook out of his hands along with the bundles of paper he also held.

"You okay?" His concerned inquiry startled me; I'd forgotten of the watery sheen over my eyes. Why did I have to cry every damn time I got frustrated?

"Oh, yeah," I assured him, wiping the excess moisture from my eyes. "Just having a bad day, that's all."

He hummed thoughtfully. "How about I help make it a little better; we can go out for a bite to eat after school. I know this great burger joint just up the street."

I bit my lip, instantly trying to find a way out of this little pickle. The last thing I wanted to do was go anywhere or do anything with anybody; I just wanted to be alone, in my room, where I didn't have to keep on a cheap façade. "I wish I could, but the thing is, I'm just really not feeling well, altogether. And on top of that, my mom doesn't want me going out anywhere in town yet, especially with new people." It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't a total lie, either.

The disappointment in Kyle's face unnerved me a little; he looked like the boy who was turned down for the school dance by the girl of his dreams. I always felt he had taken to me a bit too warmly.

"Maybe some other time?" he then added hopefully, making me feel like I had no other choice but to say "yes" just because of how pathetic he looked.

"Sure. Um, see you later." I couldn't have gotten away fast enough; unfortunately, he caught up with me, laughing.

"We have the same lunch, remember?" he kidded me, nudging my arm with his.

At lunch, I was quiet, afraid if I opened my mouth to say something, it would all be cuss words and negative remarks about everyone in the freaking school. Although I managed to refrain from looking anywhere near Gohan's table, it still didn't change anything when lunch was over and English class had commenced. I strongly considered skipping the class, but had no idea what I would do or where I would go during the free period. So, I forced myself to suck it up, sitting at the very edge of my seat, against the very end of the desk as I had done on my first day here. Gohan didn't seem to pay any attention to me; he just kept his eyes glued to the book or paper in front of him. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he'd prefer to not so much as look at me ever again.

Well, that's fine by me._ Is it?_ Bagh. Ever since the very minute I drove off the parking lot that day, there was a small part of me that actually regretted opening my big, stupid mouth and ruining a potential friendship, all over a defensive hunch. The other part of me—the stubborn, stuck-up, paranoid side—continued to convince me that I was right to blow him off before things became complicated.

But what if we had become friends? I mean, he was the only other Saiyan I've ever met, and I wasn't ignorant enough to think there wouldn't be anything new I could learn about my lineage. Who knew what it could be like, to have someone to talk to about the personal issues I'd never been able to share even with my closest friends in Washington, simply because they couldn't understand what I was going through.

_Stop it! _I hissed at myself. In my mind, my independence was giving my sentimentality a much-deserved knuckle sandwich. _Just leave it alone already. _

In the locker-room, it was gossip day. Lacey and Rachel, a few lockers over from Kendra and I, were carelessly babbling on about their sex-lives. "…So I was finally able to get a prescription for birth control. It's easier than carrying condoms around all the time; they're such a pain in the ass. It totally kills the mood, too, especially if you're in a hurry. And guys these days always assume you're on the pill, anyways." By the nasally, irritating voice, I knew it was Lacey without needing to look. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised she'd boast about her sex-life—and that she'd even had one; but did she have to be so damn loud about it? She wasn't informing Rachel of all this in a hushed tone, but in her typical obnoxious voice, as if she was announcing what she ate for breakfast this morning to a group of friends.

Uttering a dissatisfied growl of disgust, I went ahead and slipped out of the locker-room, with Kendra on my heels.

_Please, just keep your act together. You can survive this one hour, then you're home-free. _To keep my composure was easier said than done in P.E., once I'd heard our agenda for the day. Wrestling was the activity today, raising a red flag in my mind. If I got too carried away—which wasn't hard to do—I could easily break someone's arm. I knew I couldn't risk exposing my strength, with as foul of a mood I was in, and take even more heat for something I couldn't control.

I wasn't in the mood to concoct an act or excuse; I didn't care if Lang didn't like me sitting out, I was going to do it anyway. So, I stayed put in the corner of the gym, crossing my arms and legs as I leaned against the wall. It was inevitable for me to notice Gohan, Vince, and Ian willingly participating in the ordeal. Vince and Ian looked to be the only ones enjoying themselves; Gohan appeared to be rather disconcerted, being so close to fragile human beings. But somehow, he was able to keep in strength in check, and I watched in awe as he was able to dish out advanced moves on another jock with swift accuracy, yet without breaking the guy's neck.

"Teague." Ms. Lang's unfriendly voice popped into my head, and she came into view. "Is there any reason as to why you're not participating in the exercise? Your partner is waiting for you."

"I don't feel like it," I muttered lowly, not meeting her gaze.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't feel like it, but I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, unless you want detention and a failing grade for the trimester." With that, my eyes locked on hers in an intense, unkind glare.

"You'd fail me for the entire trimester just because I don't participate in one stupid little wrestling practice?" After Mr. Smith had threatened me with something similar, it was the last thing my rising temper needed to hear.

"Insubordination and disrespect to a teacher's authority isn't tolerated in this school, Teague. Either participate in the exercise or receive a failing grade." She wasn't bluffing; I knew by now she wasn't the type of teacher to present empty threats. Well, it was my unlucky day.

"Go ahead and give me a failing grade. I don't give a crap," I snarled venomously, my feet immediately in action as I strutted off for the double-doors, careless enough to let my strength seep through; I could swear I felt the iron door handle give way under my hand, and I'd slammed the door so hard, it bounced off its frame. I think I heard a bend in the metal, as well. It didn't matter; I just didn't care anymore.

The locker-room was left unlocked, for there was usually another teacher present in the office. It was easy enough to sneak in and get my things; I didn't bother changing clothes. Shockingly, no one came after me; no teachers, no security guards. Then again, for all I knew, Ms. Lang could be filing a complaint right now, so I booked it for the parking lot. Upon breathing fresh air and emerging into open space, my grip on reality came back piece by piece, allowing me to catch my bearings.

"You're a new face."

The unknown voice made me jump; turning around, I found another student—as tall and probably the same age as Vince—leaning carelessly against the school building, a cigarette between his fingers. I thought it smelled abnormal out here…

I walked on, keeping my mouth shut to prevent any more trouble, especially when I caught a certain whiff of swaggering dog.

"You look pent up," he assessed, emotionless, as I heard his footsteps right behind me. I uttered a disgraceful scoff, continuing to walk. Then, he was in front of me, taller than I'd perceived. There was something perverse and shady about the way his blue eyes glared down at me. "Why don't you unleash your pent up energy elsewhere, new girl."

"Screw you," I snarled, leaning to move around him but he was one step quicker, pushing me back. He was strong for another wolf; it was just the unexpected gesture of his shove that sent me stumbling somewhat.

"Spirited," he observed, his eyes smoldering with hunger. "That'll make things a bit fun for me, and land you in trouble. I suggest you watch where your step and learn your place, new girl." I raised my lips to snarl at him, letting my fangs grow to let him know I was not playing games. I was not in the mood to exercise restraint on my temper; I didn't care I'd managed to get by a whole month here without getting into trouble. I just wanted to beat the life out of something, and this jackass was the closest living thing within reach.

I had my feet spread, knees slightly bent, claws lengthening, my eyes aimed for his jugular and face; my thighs were aching to propel myself forward and pounce—

Instead, my feet were lifted off the ground by another force not of my own power. My ankles caught together, so I reached out to keep myself from falling to the cement, only to claps my arms around a firm waist. I struggled to regain my footing and I released myself timidly, my eyes meeting the leather-clad wall of someone's back and broad shoulders. The scent hit my nostrils like a brick wall, and I blushed, for some stupid reason.

"I see that last warning didn't quite get through your thick skull, Chase," Gohan snarled, so full of hatred, I actually couldn't believe it was his voice. Somehow, it was impossible to imagine him being capable of feeling hate.

"She's one of our own, Gohan; she can take care of herself. Or, wait, am I missing something here…is she your bitch?" I couldn't see Chase's face, but I could tell by his tone it was a serious question; a question I answered for him with a quick scoff of displeasure. Chase sniggered.

"My warning still stands, Chase," Gohan harshly informed him, a dangerous edge to his soft voice. "And if I see you come within fifty feet of her, those same repercussions will follow." Quicker than my brain could register, he turned to me, grasping my arm just above my elbow in a clutching squeeze, dragging me into the parking lot. I lost my footing once more, but Gohan kept me straight and elevated without even trying.

The grip he had on my arm was uncomfortable, but I didn't focus on it; I only jerked away from him in an attempt to get away, which was unsuccessful, no matter how hard I tugged, squirmed, or kicked out. Then his hand squeezed down on me so severely, my lower arm was beginning to feel numb.

We reached his car and he released me with an unkind jerk, pinning me between him and his vehicle. Despite the throbbing pain in my arm, I glared up at him with as much defiance and vexation as I could muster. This time, I wouldn't win.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his voice severely demanding. I narrowed my eyes into a death glare, huffing in his face. He leaned in closer, and I sunk against the car, the cold metal seeping through my clothes and to my skin. I hoped my expression didn't reflect my startled mind.

"I said, get in the car." He said each word definitively, his jaw tight and barely moving. His face was only inches from mine, the heat and closeness alarmed me. So, I receded, turning my back to him to open the door and I slid into the cool leather seat. I didn't bother looking inside the car, to see if there was anything admirable and interesting about its interior; I kept my eyes forward, staring out the windshield as I slid the seatbelt around me. Gohan was in the car and had it running before the belt had fastened.

"What about my car?" I asked, my voice morbidly quiet with anger. Gohan was quiet for a moment before he finally sighed. Had he been holding his breath?

"I'll have Vince and Renea bring it to your house after school." His answer was so monotonous and emotionless, it only unsettled me more.

"But how can he drive it, I have the keys—"

"He'll manage." I didn't question him further. For countless minutes, the deep and throaty engine was the only sound in the car; I could hear the interchanging mechanisms as Gohan shifted gears.

I didn't know where he was taking me and, miraculously, I didn't really care. Although I glared outside the windows, I didn't actually catalogue the buildings or streets we passed; I was just blankly staring at nothing, struggling with all my might to keep the tears of vexation at bay. Gohan would _not_ see me cry; I wasn't going to prove him right that I was a sensitive little creature in need of a hug.

It wasn't until the car came to a stop, the engine suddenly cut off, did I snap out of my fragmented trance. Just moving my eyes, I took in what surroundings I could; cement pillars, barriers, and narrow empty spaces in the walls. We were sitting in a parking garage, one that was nearly empty; which was surprising, considering we were only on the first level during business hours.

"This needs to stop," Gohan finally spoke, his voice still full of tension. I didn't turn to meet his gaze, if he was even looking at me. "You're a ticking time-bomb, and I can't have you popping off like you did today."

"No one said it was your responsibility to babysit me." I still didn't face him, but I made sure my voice emphasized my irritancy. The car shifted with his weight; I could tell he'd turned to face me, if not by the movement, then by the force of his eyes on my face.

"Maybe you can cut off the pretentious, smart-ass attitude and open your mind just long enough for me to relay some reality into your thick skull." Pushing my luck suddenly felt unwise. I didn't know what all he wanted to say or what he had to offer, but it wouldn't hurt to listen. Sighing, I finally blinked, a silent gesture that I would cooperate.

"You can't keep going like this; if you continue to let your emotions run wild, you'll end up hurting someone to the point of death or flatten the entire school." Gohan's voice was still strict, but he was no longer hissing and growling through his teeth. "I don't know how or why you keep fooling yourself, but you need to wake up. If you've had troubles like this in the past, then why aren't you home-schooled, so you can work on controlling your powers?"

I scoffed. "Trust me, there is nothing more I'd like than to be home-schooled. But my mom doesn't want me missing out on the 'character-building' experiences public school has to offer. Second, I wouldn't know where to start with 'controlling' my powers."

For the longest time, he didn't say a word; the silence around him felt thoughtful, but I couldn't have a single clue as to what was on his mind.

When more words crossed my mind, I didn't bother holding them in. "Often times, the only way for me to vent so I don't lose control is to beat the crap out of arrogant punks who have the nerve to cross me."

"One day, you'll thank me for breaking that scuffle up," Gohan assured me. "You didn't need to get into it with someone like Chase."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Pssh, please, I dealt with perverted scum like him on a near-daily basis in Washington. I didn't need you butting into it."

Another irritated sigh came from Gohan's mouth. "Chase is different. He's been responsible for the deaths of three girls; they were human, but he's been known to knock she-wolves to near-death as well."

I still wasn't intimidated. I wasn't anything. "So?"

"So?" Gohan uttered, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "If you went to some isolated area and fought him, there's a more than likely chance he would have outwitted you; he would have beat you to a pulp, then raped you, and if he didn't kill you, then he'd leave you lying there on the ground—crippled, ruined, and humiliated."

"Why the hell do you care so much, huh?" I finally turned to him now, a little disconcerted of the mediocre space the center console had left between us. This was the only quirk about Mustangs, and muscle cars overall, was the lack of space and room; especially for a girl that was raised in and used to riding in large pickup trucks.

Gohan blinked, a sweeping blank expression coming over his face before he hardened again, staring out the windshield. "I don't really know, to be honest. Maybe I 'care' because I don't need the death of another girl in my territory and on my conscience. We may not get along well, but I wouldn't wish such a fate on you—not on anyone." My tense shoulders began to slip into easiness when I could see and hear the sincerity in his remark. He wasn't just some stuck-up wannabe punk who carried the title of alpha because of his ability to muscle his way through things; he was truly on top of things and invested in things outside of his social circle.

"As for you and your powers," he continued, his voice alleviating in graveness, "I can give you advice, should you decide you want it. But from now on, you have to abide by me and respect my rank in this town."

"I don't submit to anyone," I growled, giving him a portent side-glare. He displayed no outward acknowledgement of my threat.

"If you get into trouble again and I intervene, I expect you to back down when I say so. I'm not asking you to submit to my every whim; just respect me enough to know that whatever I'll ask of you, it'll be for your own good and for the people around you." The more words that came out of his mouth, the harder it was for me to keep up the hard-ass charades. It came to the point he just sounded so genuine and calm, I virtually had no more reason to keep butting heads with him.

"Think you can live with that?" Gohan tilted his head ever so slightly, the tiny gesture causing my heart to catch on itself. Sighing in defeat, I leaned my head against the headrest. Within a couple minutes of consideration, I nodded somberly. The next topic of conversation was a bit unexpected.

"It'll do you some good, trust me. I mean, aren't you tired of always having to fend for yourself? You said you've dealt with this in Washington a lot, right?" I simply made a noise for a "Yes". "It's not good for you, you know, always keeping yourself on edge and so pent up."

"It's how I keep my mind busy," I said, staring forward again. "It's just something I have to do."

"No, it isn't."

Rolling my eyes, I unfolded my arms and let them fall into my lap loudly. "You're a Saiyan, I thought you'd understand; isn't it a customary thing, the yearning to fight?" I looked at him now, searching his face for an answer, since he took his sweet time pondering.

"It is. Even for me, I find myself with an itch that needs to be scratched. But I take care of it with sparring matches with my father. I don't need to go out beating random people to a pulp."

"Well, sorry, perhaps I wouldn't need to either, if I had an equally strong father to spar with whenever I'm in a bad mood." I wish I'd said this without such a cold lash; I couldn't help myself. I really felt bad when the sympathetic, wary expression returned to Gohan's face, as if his last remark had offended me.

"Look, it's just how I release all my frustrations, because the select handful of people I beat up are mainly the source of all the bull-crap in my life. If it's not to save my own neck, I only fight those who hurt or do harm to my friends and family. Sometimes, they are just my punching bag. But I have no regrets about it, especially since a couple of my regulars deserve far worse."

"I can understand; probably more than you can know." This remark—almost a promise—left a keen curiosity lingering in my mind. I wanted him to elaborate; I wanted to know what deep, dark secrets saturated that mind of his.

We sat quietly for several minutes, the bearing of our last conversation really seeping into the tiny space we dwelled. Every so often, our eyes would meet in a tense, wordless glance. I was silently hoping for him to say something, just to break the stalemate atmosphere. But I found something to say before he could.

"So, if you want me to listen to you, does this mean I'm part of your pack or something?"

"In a manner of speaking. If you don't want to be associated with me publicly, you can keep your distance at school." I didn't know whether to feel relieved, anxious, or nothing… I was a mad muddle of so many emotions, and I was tired of feeling all of it. I wanted to just sleep…

"I should get you home," Gohan said in solemn ease, his very tone indicating our Q-and-A session was over for the day. I actually slunk down in my seat in disappointment, if not for the sake of my unanswered questions, then for the displeasuring thought that he could barely stand to be around me for longer than necessary. I shook my head.

_Not even an hour ago, you were being a bitch to him; now you're suddenly all worried what he thinks about you? _

I managed to give fairly accurate directions to my house, but it was the traffic which made it a tedious drive. As we continued to sit in the middle of rush-hour traffic, barely halfway to my house, the silence quickly became unnerving. Well, it wasn't totally silent; the occasional honking car horns, drivers yelling in road-rage, and the seldom police siren or two.

There was a dull throbbing in my arm where Gohan had grabbed me earlier. Glancing down at my right arm, I had to look twice to register the blackening bruise in the crook of my elbow and bicep. It was tender to the touch. I didn't bruise very easily, so the discovery was a little shocking.

When I finally took my eyes off my arm to look out to the road, I saw Gohan's face turned toward me. His eyes, however, were honed in on my arm. Discontent and guilt were plastered all over his face. "Are you badly hurt?"

Even if I was in agony, I still would have lied, just so he didn't have to look so sad and ashamed. "N-no, not really. It's just a bruise." It was really nothing to worry about; for our kind, bruises healed within a day. It wasn't like he nearly broke my arm, though I knew he could have easily done so.

This must have been his exact thought, because even after I assured him I was fine, his brows were still arched in desolation, his eyes glinting with a sadness that seemed to span over a decade.

"Do you want to listen to some music?"

Gohan's question was so out-of-the-blue and unexpectedly generous, I actually twitched in my seat in surprise. "Um, sure?" Upon my approval, he messed around with the stereo console, switching it from radio to CD. I really didn't care what he put on, as long as it wasn't rap or hard-core country. Somehow, he didn't come off as the type to listen to either.

A soft, melodic guitar solo opened up the song, eventually followed by soft drums. The male singer's voice threw me off a little; I thought at first he sounded familiar, but as the verse continued into the chorus, the singer's unique vocal flourished. It was a rock ballad, but it wasn't any band I knew, which was shocking, because it was just the music I loved to listen to.

"Who is this?" I asked timidly, pointing to the CD player.

"It's a band called Staind," Gohan answered softly, his fingers tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

"Sounds nice." I would definitely have to pick up one of their albums next time I'm out shopping… I eagerly listened to the song, dissecting the lyrics as if it would divulge something about Gohan's secretive life. I knew what it was like to feel connected to a song, and I was just as eager to learn something about others through their favorite artists as I was to discover a connection with my own.

"_These are my words  
>that I've never said before<br>I think I'm doing okay  
>And this is the smile<br>that I've never shown before  
>Somebody shake me 'cause I<br>I must be sleeping…_"

Leaning my head into the headrest, I relaxed and listened, allowing the singer's rich, expressive voice and the lyrics to seep into my mind.

The traffic clot finally began to move along, slowly but surely. It was surprising to me how relaxed I was, sitting in the car with Gohan at the wheel. When it came to riding in cars with people I didn't know—especially teenagers—I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. I hadn't paid attention to his driving when we left the school because I was so livid. I mean, heck, for all I knew, he could drive like a maniac and not have very good reflexes to react; he could have lead-foot and like to speed down roads at ninety miles an hour.

None of that mattered to me at the moment. In fact, I felt utterly safe, and confident I would make it home in one piece.

Because the drive was nothing but city, it was hardly what I'd call the scenic route; so, I went ahead and rested my eyes, the final verse of the song lingering in my mind.

We managed to finish the rest of the CD, and we still weren't quite to my house yet, but almost; probably another three miles. I wished we were nowhere near close to reaching my house. I wanted to stay in this car, listening to this band, and basking in the contented security of Gohan's presence.

Why did he have to be so on-and-off? This side of him was so remarkable, I couldn't believe he was the same boy who gave everybody the cold shoulder and drove me so crazy with anger.

Then again, people probably think the same about me as well, once they got to know me.

Within another fifteen minutes, Gohan's Mustang slowed to a grumbling halt in front of my house. He set the car in park. Well, at least he wasn't in that much of a hurry to get me out, then?

"I sent Vince a text a little bit ago; he'll bring your car over pretty soon, so keep an ear out for him." The tension and frustration from earlier today was evanescent in Gohan's face; it was completely gone. Either he had truly gotten over it, or he was just that good at hiding his emotions.

"Um, listen," I began tentatively, "I'm sorry for my behavior and attitude the past few days, especially the other day, when you went out of your way to be nice to me. I would go into real detail about why I was so quick to jump the gun, but it's an absurdly long story." A small handful of butterflies fluttered in my stomach and chest when Gohan smiled again—a slight, but tender smirk of honesty.

"Apology accepted. I suppose I should apologize, too, for reacting as harshly as I did—"

"I don't blame you. There are times I even yell at myself because I'm so freakin' difficult to tolerate."

Gohan sighed, running a hand through his flat, disheveled hair. "Don't be hard on yourself. Everyone has their bad days." Either he was tired of fighting or he was bi-polar and flipping a three-sixty degree turn on me. _Gah, no more, _my mind begged. _Just get inside and crash. _

"Well, thanks for the ride and everything."

"You're welcome."

I wanted to sit and stare at his smile some more; it just seemed so rare, I was afraid he'd go back to his frowning self after today and I'd never see a smile on his face again. Reluctantly, I opened the door and climbed out, shutting the door behind me and jogging for my front porch. I looked back to give a small wave to Gohan; I couldn't tell if he was smiling or waving back because of the tinted windows. Well, it was indisputable; we definitely had the same taste in cars.

It didn't take long for Vince to show up with my car; I was stunned that it took him only a half-hour to arrive at my house, when it took Gohan and I over an hour. "Took the back way," he told me with a smile, wishing me a good day before hopping into Renea's Hummer and driving off.

"The back way"? I should have asked him how he was even able to drive my car without the keys, but I was too tired to crazily rummage for the answers. Once I fed Lizzie and the cats, I let out a loud noise of joy when I collapsed onto my bed, slowly pulling myself up to the pillows to rest my head. And I happily slept.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay, they've made up now. I remember back in the original draft when they went through these little spats together, they were both so immature and out of character, it was awful to read v_v **

**- J**

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	16. 15: Make This Work

**15. Make This Work**

**_Gohan_**

_This is a good thing, this is a good thing, this will be a good thing, this will work... _

These words swarmed in my head as I drove home after dropping Jordane off, her vanilla and lavender scent lingering in my car. I hated being at an impasse; life would be so much easier if I just avoided this girl and had us go our separate ways, but if we did, she'd be a loose cannon. And then, there was her own safety on the line.

Why couldn't I just leave this girl alone? I still couldn't quite put my finger on just what it was about her that made it so damn difficult to ignore her and mind my own business.

She did need my help, but she wasn't a helpless damsel that needed someone big and strong to protect her from every little obstacle. I could see how much it bruised her pride to accept my help today, in the furrow of her set brows over her stubborn, glossy eyes, probably putting every single ounce of will she had not to cry in front of me.

I didn't know what more she was going through or having to deal with in her personal life, but for her to have been this close to her breaking point, I could only fathom just how long she's been hanging on, keeping herself in control and her powers at bay. The girl was tough as nails, I had to admit that, to have lasted and put up with whatever bull-crap that has pushed her so far to the edge of breaking. Treating her like a fragile, lonely girl in need of saving would be an insult to her character, a blatant offence to her strength and sheer stubbornness that has kept her going this long.

Still, she _needed_ guidance, and I was the only one who could give it to her. With this alliance, however, came a grave hazard.

As if having Vince and the others involved in that fiasco three years ago with Bojack wasn't hard enough to get over; it nearly ended our friendship because I was so distraught over the fact they were caught in the line of fire because of me. I had to live every day with the possibility of history repeating itself now; I had to live in fear that someday, I could get one of my pack brothers or sisters killed.

True, Jordane was a Saiyan, but it didn't change the fact she was practically raised sheltered and human, even by werewolf standards. I wasn't going to ruin someone else's life because I was too weak to do the right thing. I'd give her advice and coach her on harnessing her power, so she wouldn't be such a victim of her own temper.

_And once she's learned to control herself, we're done. _We had to be. If only Jordane knew what dangers could await her if she became a part of my inner circle... _You'll have to tell her, eventually. _Sooner or later, she would be curious enough to ask how I could do all these things and why I was so on top of my powers, if not for the sake of keeping myself from flattening a city.

Eventually, I stopped wallowing in all this drama and focused on the next topic at hand; how was I going to teach Jordane effectively, thoroughly, and quickly how to control her powers? I'd never had to train or instruct a fellow Saiyan how to hone their natural abilities. It was going to be an interesting challenge.

The next couple of days at school were interesting. A little awkward, I'll admit. As Jordane went on about her routine, I'd watch her from a distance, cataloging each movement and behavior she exhibited. I won't lie, I felt like one of those wildlife researchers observing a rare, elusive creature never before studied.

Anytime in the halls or outside of class, our paths would intersect with one another, but I wouldn't approach her. Her energy was scattered all over the place as usual, and her movements mimicked her energy level.

Something I'd noticed beforehand, was she didn't always sit with Kendra and the others. Such as the other day, she excused herself to the outdoor dining area in the courtyard to idly eat her lunch, all the while doodling in her sketchbook. She appeared perfectly content sitting by herself; she didn't sulk in loneliness like some outcasts did.

I had lunch by myself that day as well, when I'd seen Jordane deviating from her typical table in the cafeteria. I suppose some people would mistake what I was doing as stalking; well, that wasn't the case. It was only observation; harmless observation.

But on days like today, as she sat out under a tree in the courtyard, absorbed and truly concentrated in what she was drawing or writing in her notepad, curiosity rose inside me. Just what else was in this girl's mind, other than horses and fighting?

Perhaps observation alone wouldn't be enough to help solve this girl's problem, I admitted with chagrin. _It can't happen,_ I kept telling myself in frustration, feeling stuck. If I got to know this girl personally, I'd come to like her and she'd come to like me; if we became friends, it'd just make it all the more difficult to part ways after my work was done.

When Jordane moved from her seat, I immediately stirred, following her with my eyes until I eventually moved after her. Lunch still had another fifteen minutes until it was over; she wasn't headed for the cafeteria, either. So, naturally, I watched her like a hawk until I found no cause for concern when she stopped in front of a row of vending machines. As she browsed with blank eyes, she curled her bottom lip inward, lightly biting with her incisors. The thoughtfully innocent expression made me smile. Suddenly, she was no longer the hard-headed, confrontational girl I'd quarreled with earlier that week; she was just a normal girl looking for her chocolate fix.

Settling by a vending machine full of candy, Jordane rummaged through her book bag and brought out a crumpled dollar bill. She eagerly stuck it in the machine slot, only to have it spit her money back out. Her shoulders slouched in disappointment, and she fumbled with the paper, smoothing out the edges, and tried again. The machine still wouldn't take it. Uttering a growl of irritancy, she slammed her fist against the vendor.

I didn't waste another second to move; I slipped my wallet out of my pocket, walking up to her silently. I cleared my throat.

"Hi," Jordane greeted in a wary tone.

"Need some change?" I asked, pointing to the vending machine. As if my offer had flustered her, she blinked, looking at the machine and back to me.

"Um, sure, thanks." I counted out the appropriate change from my wallet and handed it to her, being careful not to let our hands touch. The machine accepted my money and Jordane happily punched in a code, a bag of M&Ms falling into the chute. She quickly turned to me, offering the one-dollar bill.

"Here," she insisted with a smile.

"Nah, it's on me. You never know, that dollar may come in handy later." I was comfortable enough around her to add a carefree chuckle to the end of my banter, the vibe bouncing off of Jordane and she mirrored a smile to match my own. I caught some of the passing glances from other students as they scurried on by, but their attention meant nothing.

"Well, thanks. Would have been a bad day if I couldn't have my chocolate," Jordane said lightly, snickering. I grinned.

"Renea is the same way. I'm no stranger to how badly a girl needs her chocolate fix, trust me." Having three girls in my group who are like sisters to me and who stick to me like glue, I definitely was no stranger to chocolate cravings. Often, when the guys would be working, Renea and Jade, especially, wouldn't hesitate to sending me out to get bags of chocolate candies and pastries, no matter the time of day or night.

"So, have you been thinking about what questions to ask?" I didn't have to elaborate on my inquiry; Jordane's eyes immediately shifted around, making sure no one close by could hear.

"I have, but there are so many questions I really don't know where to start," she confessed timidly, crossing her arms. Unfortunately, neither of us had time to talk about answers to her questions; so, to get her through the day, I simply gave her this piece of advice on the general act of controlling her powers:

"Just remember, it's mind over matter. Any and every force created by your physical and spiritual energy is connected; you have complete control over it, as long as you're in control of yourself." Jordane's reaction was a little unexpected; her shoulders slouched and she glared up at me from under half-opened lids.

"Okay, thanks, Obi-Wan-Kenobi, I'll get right on that." Her remark wasn't as cynical; she conveyed more disappointment than displeasure or anger. I knew she needed and wanted me to elaborate, but I couldn't. Not now.

"Sorry, but this isn't the time or the place. See you in English class." I felt guilty just walking off the way I did, but my own boundary lines were beginning to flicker in and out. I didn't know how I was supposed to give Jordane comprehensive advice she'd understand and allow her to teach herself. But as someone who's endured brutal, hands-on training, I knew in the back of my mind this stagnant arrangement just wasn't going to work.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A horrendously short Gohan chapter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! These next few chapters I pretty much winged last year because I felt this part of the story was lacking some action/substance, and I wanted what happened in the next chapter to be in my OCs POV, but also for parts of it to be in Gohan's… I would have made the story much shorter if I just switched narratives whenever I wanted instead of confining each one to separate chapters. Oh but that would make things too easy LOL **

**- J**

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	17. 16: Guts? I Have Too Much

**16. Guts? I Have Too Much**

**_Jordane_**

Since the long city miles and high gas prices had been taking a toll on my car's tank and my wallet, I was left to take a city transit bus for my little endeavor. It would do me some good to go on a little tour of this new city. Thankfully, my mother was sure to buy me a bus pass within the first week we moved here, so I didn't have to worry about having the money in case of emergencies.

The bus was leaving a town center after picking up a group of young shoppers and families; squeezing back out into traffic was a hassle. On one of the bus's last stops in town, however, I glanced out my window to see what car was responsible for the luxurious purr of engine noise. In the back of my mind, though, I already knew, for I'd heard it a dozen times before.

Sure enough, when I examined the small black car below my window, I found its driver already staring up at me. Obtuse gapes of shock were no longer something I associated with his presence; I smiled shyly but respectfully down at Gohan, whose black eyes were something familiar to gaze upon in this section of town I didn't quite recognize. He nodded discreetly in my direction, smiling ever so slightly from his open window. I added a quick but subtle wave just before my bus was given the green light and turned. Sighing as Gohan went out of view, I relaxed back in my seat, slouching in disappointment. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to during this long bus ride. Although I was set on this public transportation adventure when I first boarded, seeing Gohan in his car made me more than willing to switch rides.

_Bah, listen to yourself. You don't even know if you like the guy and here you are, wishing you could be back with him in his tiny, non-spacious car. _

Son Gohan had a certain effect on me, and I wasn't exactly sure what it was nor was I entirely sure if I liked it or not.

My mind's occupation on Gohan shifted when the bus picked up a new group. Glancing up from my window, I scrutinized the posse of three. They were all men, of various sizes and fitness levels, taking their seats close together as the bus resumed motion. A paranormal instinct told me to keep my eyes keenly on them, so I could observe their mannerisms and behavior. As to why this was so important, I didn't know, but neither did I often bother to ask. Werewolves never questioned their instincts.

But perhaps, in this situation, if I had pondered on reasons as to why my nerves were on edge, I would have been better prepared. But by the time the bus turned on to a long stretch of country highway and paranoia had set densely into my gut, it was too late.

The smallest man—who could have been only a few years older than me—casually strolled up to the driver, speaking to him in an innocent enough tone, "Hey, man, I've got a question about this route. This bus is going down to Satan City Square, right?" When the bus driver answered with assuring confirmation, all hell broke loose.

"Perfect," the man said in a suddenly malicious tone, just before he pulled something out from his baggy hoodie and struck the bus driver in the head with it. One, two, then three popping bombs went off in the bus, barely drowning out the screams and shrieks of panic of all the passengers. I coiled in my seat, both from the surprise of the sudden noises and the pain of my eardrums ringing and throbbing. There were muffled sounds for a few seconds; when I opened my eyes, the three men who had been sitting so calmly and normally in their seats were standing and had shed off their jackets and sweatshirts, revealing the Glock handguns and assault rifles they'd cleverly concealed.

Being the niece of two retired Marines, I could tell by just the look of these guns that they weren't harmless replicas or toys; they were the real deal. My body went cold and numb, eyeing the firearms with dread. Don't get me wrong; I've been around guns before—I've held them and fired them—but this was the first time I've been at the other end of a gun.

"Ladies and gentleman, children of all ages, welcome to the greatest and quite possibly the last ride of your lives!" the tallest and meanest man announced with sick pleasure, waving his rifle around carelessly. Taking my eyes from his gun to his face, his unpleasant, sharp features only added to his intimidation factor. His ear-length, dark greasy hair and heavy stubble made him look all the more sickly—not just physically, but in the mind as well.

His accomplices were all a bit younger; the one driving the bus had short-cropped hair and lean arms. The right-hand man, who held two Glocks, was far larger in mass; he was short and stocky, but with very present muscle and strength. With his curly long hair and goatee, he may have come across as the type who drove in hundred-thousand-dollar sport cars and never went out on the town without one woman on each arm. But when you got to his eyes—his cold and hard brown eyes—his rich and handsome appeal held no merit.

Other than an over-the-top, sickly comedic introduction of his partners and himself, the hijackers didn't say much else; nothing about where they were taking us or why they even wanted to hijack a bus full of people when they didn't even appear interested in snatching money or possessions from anyone.

Wait, spoke too soon. The stocky, burly one, who'd been addressed as Carlos, went from person to person, sticking his gun in their face and demanding they empty out their pockets and wallets. His aim was mostly money and jewelry; the most obvious and typical target for thieves. Women reluctantly handed over any gold and silver they wore, along with their wallets; same with the few men that were on board. Shockingly enough, Carlos left everyone's cell phones untouched.

I had nothing of value to give him; I never kept much cash on me, nor did I carry a debit or credit card. So when Carlos came to me, the barrel of his gun in my face, I just sat still and quietly, not moving.

"Hey, sweetheart, you blind? Give up the goods." His voice was as husky as his appearance, but hardly in any assuring or comforting manner.

"I have nothing." My voice was weak and dry; I was surprised he even heard me. He scoffed.

"Please, teenage girls never go anywhere with 'nothing'," he protested, unkindly tapping his heavy gun to my temple. "Now give me what you have."

I wore no jewelry, so I simply reached in my jeans pocket, opened my wallet at an angle so he could see I had nothing of value, and without looking up, I handed him the one dollar I'd intended to use for candy at lunch, but was spared because of Gohan's generosity. I heard Carlos grunt in dissatisfaction, snatching the dollar bill from my hand. Even after he'd finished collecting stolen goods, he kept his brooding eyes on me, making me feel sick each time he glanced my way.

The radio suddenly crackled to life with a woman's mechanical voice on the other line, verifying the bus's route. The ring-leader, who'd made himself comfortable up in front, took hold of the radio and nonchalantly informed the headquarters the bus had been hijacked, divulging his plan to crash the bus into Satan City Square. The real buzz-worthy piece of information, however, was when he blatantly announced he and his buddies somehow had attached two bombs on the bus, and both were armed to blow as soon as the bus was in the city.

_This is just too simple. _He let his plan be known, just like that? What was going to stop headquarters from contacting the police?

Nothing; there was nothing stopping anyone from calling the police, even the passengers on this bus. Our captors wanted the police to know about the hijacking. The leader, Jack, didn't let anything on about a ransom demand, but perhaps that was later down the road.

Everything was morbidly quiet and unmoving for another twenty minutes; the hijackers murmured amongst themselves, and passengers exchanged comforting words between each other. I sat the farthest from anyone else, in the front half of the bus while most of the passengers huddled in the back end. At the end of the half-hour, I could hear very distant sirens, before anyone else on the bus could. But, once they did, some passengers let out sighs and exclamations of relief. The hijackers, on the other hand, didn't seem to care much at all. In fact, from the smug look on their faces, it looked as if everything was going according to their plan.

The police's negotiator buzzed in from the radio, talking in that smooth, calm voice you'd hear from in TV shows and movies, engaging in small-talk with Jack about the weather, the traffic; leading to important questions from how many people were in the bus, how many were hurt, et cetera. When it came to asking Jack what he wanted, Jack gladly delivered his demands leisurely.

"Let's see, I've got two bombs sitting here, waiting to be detonated as soon as we reach Satan City Square, with about twelve or so hostages; how much money do think that's worth?" The question was mocking, and the negotiator's remark of "Money, huh? Why don't you tell me how much you think it's worth" only opened the door.

"How does fifty million sound to you?"

A low, hissing hum of gasps reverberated in the bus amongst fellow passengers. So unless the city coughed up fifty million dollars, we were on a one-way-trip to doom. The negotiator's response was, "I'll see what I can do." Not the reply a dozen scared-to-death hostages wanted to hear.

As the hour continued to drag by, I was in a tug-of-war with myself. Act, don't act; text Mom, don't text Mom; try out my powers, don't try. The hostage-takers made the decision for me, however, when Carlos began taunting a boy who looked barely shy of eighteen and a little girl beside him, who looked to be no older than eight years old. The poor thing's pink cheeks were streaked with tears of terror, her older brother keeping his long arm safely around her as she nestled into his chest.

"Aw, well, ain't this a Hallmark moment," Carlos leered, leaning by the siblings. "I guess you don't like thrill rides, do you, baby girl?" As soon as he reached out a hand for the little girl, he jumped back with a yell, cussing and snarling. Then a gunshot exploded. While everyone screamed and coiled away from the sound, I stared wide-eyed and alarmed, waiting to see who he'd shot: the little girl or her brother.

"What the hell, Carl?" Jack lashed, meeting his colleague eye-to-eye as soon as he straightened up.

"The little fucker stabbed me," Carlos seethed. As soon as he moved, I could see a red gash in his arm; then my eyes went to the siblings, where the little girl was shrieking and sobbing over her brother, who lay sloped in the seat, ashen and gasping for air as blood gushed from the wound in his chest. Before my mind could register a second thought, I rose from my seat and hurried down the spacious aisle for the boy and his sister, ignoring the questioning lashes from Carlos. When I reached the siblings, a woman had already pried the girl from her brother, cradling her in her arms, while a middle-aged man joined me beside the boy, immediately putting pressure on the wound. My instinct based off what my uncles taught me for emergency care kicked in.

"Does anyone have a scarf or tunic or something?" I looked amongst my fellow passengers, searching for anything they had on their person I could use for a tourniquet. Luckily, the woman who held the little sister immediately offered her cotton scarf. The bullet, thankfully, wasn't in the middle of the boy's chest, but in the upper right corner between his collar and shoulder, so no vital organs should've been hit. I was able to wrap the scarf around him, the middle-aged man removing his hand without a word, but before I tightened the knot, I glanced at the boy's wide green eyes.

"This is going to hurt like hell. Ready?" The brave boy swallowed harshly before nodding, and I pulled the knot through, making it squeeze tightly against the bullet wound. The boy bit his lip with a low, guttural whine of pain, his pale face turning beet-red at the cheeks.

"We need to lay him down," the middle-aged man beside me said. "You take his feet." There was something very assuring and confident about this man's voice, as if he'd done this a thousand times before. As instructed, I took the boy's feet, already knowing where we aimed to set him.

"Ah-ah, what do you think you're doing?" Carlos pointed his gun at us; I could see the itchy trigger-finger syndrome in his eyes.

"Just leave them be, Carlos," Jack ordered indifferently, eyeing us with no concern. "Let them try to be heroes if they want to so badly."

We set the injured teenager down on one of the long benches of the bus; the middle-aged man removed his thick coat and folded it up to place it gently underneath the boy's head. "What's your name, son?" he asked. He was remarkably calm, or so he made it look. His voice was even, his eyes showing not one ounce of fear that I could see.

The young man swallowed again, inhaling short, deep breaths. "C-Cody. M-my sister—"

"Your sister is fine, Cody. A kind woman is looking after her."

"Oh, Carlos? Perhaps it would be a wise thing to check any of the hostages for weapons, so we don't have a repeat of your incompetence, hm?" Jack's tone was condescending and mocking; Carlos glared back at him, his hand still over the long gash in his arm. But without a word, he bent over to pick up the pocket knife on the floor which I could assume was the knife Cody stabbed him with. From there, he persisted to frisk the rest of the passengers, who all carried nothing; the closest thing anyone had to a weapon was their house keys or toothpicks.

When Carlos came to me, he eyed me harshly, pointing his gun in my face once again to get me to move. "Spread your arms," he demanded, meriting very little response from me. "I said open your arms." When he pressed his gun into my temple, I obeyed, reluctantly spreading my arms out from my sides. I stood with clutched jaws as his crude hands searched my body without a trace of modesty. His fingers just grazed the surface of my breast under my hoodie, but I shrugged it off. When his hands lingered a bit too long over my backside, however, I lashed out, my elbow snapping backward for his face. When I turned, he was five feet away from me, on the floor.

Jack was laughing, his rifle pointed lazily at me. "Oh, Carlos, you're just getting a beating today, aren't you? First you get stabbed by a kid, and then you get clocked by a chick." Carlos glared at me with a death stare, blood dripping from his nose and lip.

The radio suddenly fuzzed and cracked with incoming negotiations. "Jack? Jack, we heard gunshots and saw muzzle-flashes, is everything all right in there?" I knew our situation was nothing to laugh at, but it was difficult for me to take this negotiator seriously, with how he smooth-talked his phrases. While Jack engaged in feigned small-talk with the negotiator, the passengers regrouped.

"That was a pretty gutsy thing you did, hitting that thug," expressed the middle-aged man who'd helped me with Cody, staring at me with a softer expression now.

"Thanks, but it was more a subconscious reflex than a noble decision."

He smiled again. "My name is Abe."

I gave a small smile in return. "I'm Jordane."

"Well, Jordane, I've got to say you're one brave young lady. You haven't so much as flinched whenever that asshole directs his itchy trigger-fingers at you." There was a strange sense of curiosity and admiration in Abe's voice. It took a moment for my rattled brain to register his comment as a question.

"Guns aren't alien to me," I confessed. "Both my uncles and my cousin are Marines; I spent a lot of time with them at shooting ranges back at home." A flicker of stoic satisfaction washed over Abe's face. Gently, he shrugged off his cotton work sweater, pulling up the sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing a tattoo on his upper arm of an insignia which was all too familiar to me; an eagle perched atop a globe fused with a ship's anchor. The insignia of the United States Marine Corps.

"I was honorably discharged after a short tour in the Gulf War. I was making my rounds when a gunfight broke out; took two rounds to the shoulder, one to my thigh." I was no stranger to war stories; what my uncles saw and endured in Vietnam was something I could never fathom. Any soldier who had the bravery to grab war—death itself—by the horns and glare at it defiantly was someone I immediately respected.

The expression I gave to Abe was the same I exhibited to my uncles; a half-smile of respect and sympathy, but nothing close to pity. "Semper Fi," Abe spoke in a confident, firm murmur. My smirk widened.

"Semper Fi." Abe grinned at me, his smile very white and lively, making me wish even more that we'd met under far different circumstances. He had the same fatherly, wise quality to him both my uncles did; I could see the battle-scars in his eyes, and yet he still found reason to smile.

"So, what's a United States Marine doing all the way over here?" I asked curiously.

"I'm here for my son; he moved here five years ago for his career, and his wedding is this weekend. I was just coming from my hotel to go have lunch with him and his fiancée. I'd be arriving on time if it weren't for our detour here." With a somber glare, our attention was turned back to our captors, who stood silently amongst themselves, giving a few brief glances our way just to be sure the peace was being kept.

Police cruisers continued to follow us as we sped down the highway, minutes dragging by like hours. I could hear a helicopter hovering somewhere, but I didn't make any great effort to look for it. Instead, I became too occupied with the latest development.

The negotiator had managed to convince Jack to let Cody and his little sister, Angela, off the bus. They wouldn't however, stop the bus in order for this to happen; we would have to find a way to hand over Cody and his sister to the police, from moving vehicle to moving vehicle. Within another ten minutes, the police cruisers fell back to make way for a van. The doors slid open and within a few moments the officers inside set up a contraption which held a stiff steel plate in place with the last step of the bus's second side door, which had been slid open by the driver.

Apparently, one condition of the deal was that no one was to come on or go off the bus except for the two hostages; so, the EMTs and police slid over another board with straps on it, ordering us to place Cody gently into it and strap him in. Angela stayed with the warm woman who'd been looking after her ever since Carlos shot her brother; the other handful of passengers watched from the sides, while Abe and I, along with the aid of another male passenger, arranged Cody so he was secured to the makeshift gurney.

"You," Jack growled, pointing his rifle at me and Abe as we tilted the gurney out for the door. "You step two feet outside this bus, you're road-kill, capiche?"

"You have our word," Abe answered with a reluctant growl, but he would keep his promise, as would I. I won't lie, the tension in that bus was so suffocating and horrible, there was nothing more I wanted to do than get out, but priorities had to be set firmly in place. Cody needed medical help, and it wasn't right for him to leave while his little sister stayed to endure the terror of this hell-driven ride. If the seven other passengers had to sit and bear it, then I would too.

I was the only one petite enough to successfully sit on the steps of the bus in order to slide Cody over the five-foot metal slab that was our only bride from the bus to the van—the only bridge between heaven and hell. When the paramedics had their hands on Cody, Angela was ushered beside me by Abe, but she stood fast beside me. Her red, soft face stared out in utter fear of the obstacle that lay before her.

Quickly, I tried to think of a way to make her muster the bravery to cross. "Angela? Hey, do you like playing at recess in school?" The girl nodded, but her eyes were still fixated on the metal slab as we sped down the road at sixty miles an hour. "Okay, um, do you have a play-set with a moving bridge? You know, the kind that wave and move when you walk across it?"

Angela nodded again, this time looking at me with big, scared eyes. "Okay, well, then just pretend this is one of those bridges. Okay? Cody's waiting on the other side of that bridge, waiting to play with you, but you have to get across the bridge." I didn't know it would work; honestly, I was a rather inept when it came to kids, but remarkably, this little girl carefully inched her way out on the metal slab. I kept my hands on her waist for as long as my arms would allow me, keeping them open and ready as she continued to quickly close the inches between her and the van—

Then something loud shattered my eardrums, another ringing sound following; the horrid impact on my hearing didn't hinder my reflexes. My arms clutched around Angela before she could fall to the raging pavement, nearly falling out myself, if someone hadn't dived for me and grabbed hold of my ankles. Angela clutched to me, crying and screaming, and I kept my arms locked around her tight, my head only a foot or less away from contacting the pavement of the highway. Thank the Moon I was in shape; with just the strength of my core, I pulled myself up into the bus with Angela, waiting until I knew her feet were on solid ground to let her go. Quickly clutching the handlebars I yanked myself up, landing on the floor. I felt a hand on my shoulder—not Carlos or Jack's harsh hand—but a firm and protective hand.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Abe bellowed to Jack, while holding Angela against him.

"I wasn't going to sit around and wait all day for a little kindergartener," Jack spat cruelly, turning his back to us once again to join his boys up at the front of the bus. The door to our only escape route was sealed.

"You all right, little Marine?" Abe asked me, comforting Angela by rubbing her back. I heaved my breaths, struggling to get back to an even somewhat calm state.

"My heart is still in my throat, but I'm good."

How much more of this could we take? We had to be getting closer to Satan City Square by now, and from the looks of it, the police were nowhere near meeting Jack's ransom demands.

_This guy's plan isn't perfect, _I said to myself as I continued to sit on the floor with Abe and Angela. There had to be some detail he'd overlooked—a hole, a flaw—something the police can recognize and use. A few startling gasps from some of the passengers made me jump from my stillness.

"We're close to the City Square, I can see it," a woman whispered to another; in response, I quickly rose to my feet to look down the road ahead. I could see a cluster of large buildings and mini-skyscrapers, just off the highway. We were probably still a good three miles away or more, but I knew that distance would close within a matter of minutes.

Thankfully, there was a hole in the hijackers' plan. So much so, that while Jack argued over the radio with the negotiator about the ransom, he never bothered to pay attention the bus's surroundings. I picked up another hum of engine noise behind us, and found a dark cart with a couple heads poking up, very quickly settling behind the bus so they couldn't be seen. The silent reactions of the passengers and myself caught Abe's attention; upon putting the pieces together, I saw a spark in his eyes. He whispered to Angela for her to go back to a certain woman, and the girl obeyed quietly. All the passengers were already huddled in the back of the bus, so it didn't catch the attention of Jack or his buddies when they continued to inch closer to the emergency door. Abe met my eyes once again, and we came to a silent, unanimous decision.

"Oorah," I uttered in a small but unreserved whisper.

"Oorah."

"Now you listen to me, you ass-wipe! Unless you give me the money within the next five minutes, you're going to have far more than ten bodies to clean up at the end of today!" Jack snarled into the radio. Miraculously, I kept my breath steady, my thoughts focused on Gohan and the vague wisdom he shared with me earlier that day.

"_Just remember, it's mind over matter. Any and every force created by your physical and spiritual energy is connected; you have complete control over it, as long as you're in control of yourself_."

Linking this advice with all the past attempts to call upon my powers, I allowed the paranormal instinct to marinate within my conscience and body, praying it would work on moment's notice.

No one could leave the bus quietly; the hijackers would have to be occupied for anyone to escape. And I was the only one qualified for the position of decoy.

Before I could prepare myself, the starting bell sounded, in the form of Carlos exclaiming a severe cry of warning when he caught a foolish man trying to open the back door. Instead of recoiling to the floor, the passenger thrust the door open and took his chances, jumping out for the police cart just a few feet from the bus. In the mayhem, Carlos squeezed off a round and then another; as to whether the passenger was shot or made it to safety was uncertain. My cue had been given.

The adrenaline amplified my movements; after knocking Carlos down in a flash, I threw my open-palmed hand toward the front of the bus, a small ball of light materializing and shooting straight for Jack and the driver. The explosion was small and reaped little damage to the bus, but I was in shock of the very fact I actually succeeded in dispersing my energy.

"Jordane! Make sure everyone gets off the bus!" Abe ordered, with Carlos trapped in a deadlock. I wanted to take Carlos down myself, but while Abe had control of the situation, I had to make myself useful. Leaping past them, I made sure Angela and the rest of the passengers quickly but safely made it onto the police cart, just barely big enough for all of them to fit.

Loud thumps and trembles erupted behind me, and I found Abe and Carlos engaged in hand-to-hand combat. I ached to help him, but stood my ground in helping the last person slide down onto the police cart.

Turning back, I found Jack steadying himself on his feet, struggling to aim his rifle at Abe as he and Carlos wrestled and wrestled against each other. I kicked Carlos and Abe to the floor to prevent him from being shot, then I made my move, leaping ten feet to Jack and kicking the rifle out of his hand. My quick movements disoriented him, so he didn't react much and was effortless to knock down.

"Jordane, get off the bus!" Abe commanded sternly, having Carlos trapped beneath him once more. It would have been so simple for me to leap over them and make for the exit. But I didn't leave; instead, I stared stupidly at the cart, expecting and waiting for a couple SWAT officers to board the bus and take control of the situation. The few officers on the cart simply called and urged me to join them. I wasn't going to leave without Abe, so I was about to turn back to give him a hand with Carlos so we could both ditch the bus when a gunshot rang out.

Swerving around, my heart sank to my gut upon the sight of Abe lying down on the ground, a bleeding wound in his chest. Before I could react, Carlos put another bullet in Abe's body. Without a second thought, I threw myself at Carlos, delivering a powerful strike at his chest and sending him flying to the other side of the bus. As to how the bus was still moving when the driver appeared to be unconscious, I had no clue, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. Snatching my bag from my seat, I dropped beside Abe and easily lifted his weight up; throwing his arm over my shoulders and bracing him against me, I carried him to the back exit.

"Hang on," I told him, as his heavy eyelids threatened to make his world go dark. I reached the open door with a breath of relief, shouting to the officer who reached out that Abe had been shot. Abe regained enough consciousness to plant himself down on the thin mantel which connected the cart to the bus, the police officer grabbing hold of his feet and I held onto his shoulders. Slowly, he slid himself down to the cart until he was in safe hands. The man was definitely tough, I had to give him that.

The air was stolen from my lungs when an unkind force pulled me back into the bus and I landed on my back hard on the floor. A string of gunshots rang in my ears, making me coil with sudden adrenaline. But no pain came; they weren't meant for me. I could hear bullets hitting and ricocheting off metal, and the cries of the officers, "Abort, abort!"

With a final screeching of metal detaching from metal, I realized with a sinking dread that I was alone.

Carlos' weight was suddenly crushing me, the hot sinew of his arm clenching down on my throat. "You're one hell of a nuisance," he growled, yanking me up by my hair. Once planted on my feet, I pulled out all the stops; one jab, then another, to Carlos' face, sending him staggering back. Reaching for handlebars on the bus's walls, I used them as leverage to send a punitive kick to Carlos' chest. I could feel and hear his ribs snap and break before he went collapsing for the floor, gasping in pain.

Throwing myself on top of him, I kneed my leg into his chest, creating more pain for the scumbag. The cry he uttered was dry and without muster; it stirred something ruthless in my mind, made me feel pleasure in his pain after what he'd put innocent people through today. Clenching my fist, I delivered a final blow to his jaw, and I heard something snap. He lied still.

He was still conscious; his eyes were still open and moving, but he couldn't bring the strength to move any other part of his body. Well, obviously I was a bit rusty on my training and didn't snap his neck in the right place to kill him, but paralyzing him was a good compromise.

"You little bitch!" By the time I managed to turn my head, there was a deafening _popping_ sound, and an acute pain followed in my waist, sending me stumbling to the floor with a yelp.

I'd never been shot before, so even my strong constitution was shocked enough to leave me numb on the ground. Somehow, it wasn't as painful as I'd perceived it to be, but perhaps I still had enough adrenaline raging through my veins to mask the full force of the pain. Jack stood a tall and brooding figure above me, blood running down his face. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket—too small to be a gun. There was a series of small beeps before he finally grinned.

"Screw the plan; I'm flexible. Bombs are now armed, and by the time they go off, I'll be long gone. Enjoy your ride to hell, sweetheart."

If I wasn't in hot water before, I sure was now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Here's that little piece of "action" I was talking about. Hardly the epic chaos that's DragonBall Z, but it's something. This chapter knocked me on my ass, I do so poorly with action scenes. **

**Okay, a little confession…this scene was sort of inspired by the similarly small hijacking scene in the Saiyaman Saga, when Saiyaman/Gohan saved Videl and the passengers of the bus from going off the cliff (in which case Videl took down the hijackers prior…I'm not her biggest fan, just getting that out there lol)**

**Hope y'all enjoyed. **

**- J**

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	18. 17: Rescue

**17. Rescue**

**_Gohan_**

Something was surely going on, which wasn't a surprise in this city. I could hear the sirens clearly even before they came within range of the gas station I had stopped by, pumping gas as a good number of police cruisers went speeding past. Sighing, I let my shoulders slouch.

My mother called long after the sirens were out of range, thankfully; she wasn't fond of my spending time in the city longer than necessary, so she didn't need to worry herself more upon hearing sirens.

Hmm, well, perhaps I should have added my mother didn't mind me spending time in the city if it meant running her errands. Her post-school phone call was to inform me she was out of various ingredients needed for dinner tonight, so she needed me to run to the market for her. I said "Of course", when all I really wanted was to just get home and take a nap.

I drove down to Chan's Grocers and picked up what Mother needed; a couple vegetables, pasta, various spices, and uncooked rice. The lines, as always, were atrociously long; the shortest one I picked was still going to be a near-ten minute wait within itself. A good deal of people had their eyes glued to the little flat-screen TVs set above the aisles—something to help pass the time.

It wasn't until excited murmurs broke out amongst the crowd did I bring my attention to the televisions. It was a breaking news banner, and for a dreadful moment, I thought I had another dead human on my hands. Then the picture cut off from the news anchor to live video feed off a helicopter, revealing a city transit bus blazing faster than usual on a highway. A plank of sorts connected a van to the bus's rear-side entrance, and it looked as if someone was moving a person from the bus.

"Could you turn it up?" I heard someone call from behind me. The cashier took a minute of ringing up items, quickly picking up a remote and punching the volume up a couple grades. Some could barely still hear it, but I could just perfectly.

"…_It is unclear just how many hostages are on this bus, but as you can see here they look to be transporting an injured young man in a stretcher from the bus to the police van. And so far, it looks successful. Wait—the hijackers must be letting the little girl go, too._" The camera honed in on the open entrance of the bus, and I could see a caramel-colored little girl—perhaps a year or so older than Goten—standing hesitantly on the steps. When I took a second look at the girl kneeling beside her, my gut turned cold.

Just whose luck was it the very bus Jordane was riding would be hijacked?

Everyone held their breath—including me—when the little girl began to take baby steps out on the slab; with each hammering of my heart I eagerly waited for her to just jump the remaining distance and be safe—

Flashes and sparks brought chaos; in a blink, I lost any detail. The next thing I saw was Jordane holding onto the little girl as they dangled out of the bus, only inches from becoming road-kill. A slew of gasps erupted in the store; just about every TV was on the same channel, watching the chaos unfold. Even when Jordane managed to pull herself and the little girl back into the bus, my chest was still tight.

"_This just in, we were just informed by a source that the hijackers' demands are fifty million dollars in ransom, or they will continue to drive the bus and its passengers to Satan City Square, where they will detonate two alleged bombs they carried on board_…"

That was it. Abandoning the hand-basket full of groceries, I loped out of the store, but I didn't run for my car. "Nimbus!" I called to the sky, running at full stride down the sidewalk until a golden cloud came speeding beside me. With minimal effort I leapt onto it, my feet landing firmly and keeping my balance as I gave Nimbus mental direction to where I wanted to go. The dependable cloud kicked into high gear and sped for the southbound highway; all we had to do was follow the sirens and police cruisers. I quickly devised a plan in my head. Any strategy meant revealing my powers to the public eye. My family has had so much grief since the Cell Games; the hype died down and just begun to be bearable in the last year, I didn't want to start a whole other round of hysteria and propaganda.

When I was right on top of the highway, at the tail-end of the police brigade, all the fussing left my mind and I worked to step one of my plan: see how many hostages were in the bus. My eyes locked on to the long vehicle, to find myself surprised as hostages flooded out of the back exit of the bus and jumping onto a compact wheeling cart. Somewhere amongst the turmoil, I could have sworn I saw Jordane's face for just a moment, but she wasn't on the steel wagon.

Two gunshots rang out, and in minutes, I saw Jordane at the exit once more, carrying a larger, middle-aged man and handing him to the police. _Now get out of there. _For a split minute, it looked as if Jordane was home-free with the rest of the hostages, but she was suddenly yanked back into the bus and a man took her place, firing his rifle at the mechanism connecting the wagon to the bus. Police held up their shields to protect themselves and the hostages from ricocheting bullets and they disconnected themselves from the bus, falling back into the safe barricade of SWAT vans.

Avoiding the news chopper, I brought Nimbus in lower so I was level with the windows of the bus. Figures flashed in and out of sight, until I saw Jordane's smaller figure throwing down a man to the floor.

"Closer, Nimbus." Just then, a single gunshot popped inside the bus, and a different man—far taller and ganglier than the last—stood looking down at someone. I could only assume that someone was Jordane; if she wasn't getting up, then she had to have been shot.

I concentrated my physical energy into my hand, forming a compact energy blast and hurled it to the bus windows, where it shattered the glass and hit the gunman in the face. "Jordane!" A hunched over figure slowly braced itself on the bar of a seat, and Jordane was firmly on her feet, her eyes looking as if they were going to pop out of her head when she saw me. "Get on the roof of the bus!" I called. Glancing ahead, I could see the highway exit that would lead to Satan City Square; in another four minutes, we'd be rolling into their parking lot. Thankfully, Jordane didn't waste any time climbing to the emergency hatch on the roof an opening it. A lanky arm suddenly reached out and grasped her leg, dragging her down, for the gunman used her as leverage to bring himself to his feet.

I readied another energy blast in my palm, but it wasn't necessary; Jordane served a swift kick to the man's already mangled face and hauled herself onto the roof of the bus, and had to keep moving when the gunman began shooting up at the roof. She was driven to the very edge of the bus's front end, and I maneuvered over in front of her, Nimbus moving just enough to keep up with the sixty-mile-an-hour speed.

Just as I was about to move closer to the bus, an explosion caused Nimbus to maneuver back, and I could feel the heat of fire even from a dozen feet away. The entire face of the bus was engulfed in flames, creating a barrier between her and I. As to how the bus remained upright and roaring on its tracks, I didn't know.

"Now what?!" Jordane yelled at me, utterly distressed.

"Jump," I answered, already in a stable stance on Nimbus to catch her.

"_Jump_?! That's your brilliant plan?" I could see the wheels of logic and physics spinning in her eyes as she stared at my cloud. I moved Nimbus as close to the bus as I could, but I could only manage to get six feet in while remaining far enough from the flames; I saw Jordane's hand clamped over her side, where blood soaked her shirt, another hindrance. But I had to have faith in her.

"Jordane," I uttered as delicately as I could, making her eyes shift from the gap between us to my eyes. "_Trust me_. If there was ever a time for you to start trusting me, it's now." She glanced ahead briefly before setting her feet apart, ready to spring.

"I'll catch you; I won't let you fall, I promise," I vowed, ready for her to leap. She built up enough momentum in three steps to launch herself above the two-foot wall of flames and the six feet separating us, despite the bullet in her side. My hands latched onto her wrists, pulling her more securely onto Nimbus. It would have been a scathe-free rescue if another thunderous explosion hadn't knocked us off of Nimbus and sent us hurdling for the ground. Unconsciously, my arms locked around Jordane's back and head, inclining my body so I landed on the ground first. We rolled from concrete to a grass patch, but we weren't out of danger.

Looking up, I found the exploded bus falling on its side and tumbling for us in a screeching metal heap of flame and cinders. Dispersing my energy outward from my body, I created a barrier around us, shrouding Jordane's curled body beneath me as the crumbling bus thrashed and bounced off the energy shield.

When I opened my eyes, I found the bus skidding to a stop on the other side of the highway, just at the entrance of the off-ramp to the Square. Pops, clanks, and crackles emanated from the burning scrap of metal, the fire still hot and blazing even from some umpteen feet away. For a moment, the stench of ash and burning steel dissipated and I caught a whiff of lavender and blood. I didn't realize my face was nearly buried in Jordane's muddled hair; she stirred beneath me, and I made the split-second decision upon hearing the incoming sirens to hoist myself from the ground and I leapt into the air to join Nimbus, who waited for me.

I watched from the protective shroud of clouds as Jordane got to her feet, looking around quizzically as EMTs swarmed her, strapping her to a gurney and hoisting her into the ambulance. It was too easy to guess which hospital they'd take her and the rest of the hostages to. I couldn't ignore the little voice in my head as I continued to sit there and watch police and crime scene investigators clean and dissect the crash scene.

I reached for my cell phone and dialed; instead of returning the missed calls from my mother, I aimed to speak to someone else. "This is Dr. Don Rose," Don's business-like but compassionate voice answered. I could hear the bustling of the hospital in the background; heart monitors, patients murmuring, children crying, and nurses shouting. I could almost smell the distilled air through the phone.

"Don, it's me."

"Ah, Gohan; it's an awkward time of day to be calling me, son. What's on your mind?" With the busy man he was, I knew he wouldn't have time to sit and watch the news which unfolded not even two hours ago.

"There was a hijacking today in town; a friend of mine was one of the hostages, and she's pretty banged up. I was wondering if you could take care of her for me."

"Oh dear. The crime in this city, I swear… So who is this friend? What are her injuries?"

"She's Jordane Teague; I'm sure Renea's told you about her."

"Oh! Your guys' classmate, huh?"

"Yes, her. She was shot in the waist, I believe; other than a few bruises, I didn't get a chance to notice anything else." I stopped my mouth there; a small portion of my conscience wanted to suggest a CAT scan and MRI, but Don was the doctor—the finest doctor in this city. He'd know what to do once he saw Jordane, and he'd take care of her. She didn't need human nurses and doctors fussing over her and scratching their heads at her inhumanly strong condition.

Pursing my lips, I didn't look forward to having to go through the grocer's market again and pick out the groceries my mother needed. Blowing a raspberry, I murmured for Nimbus to take me back to Chan's Grocers so I could finish my errand, then I would be paying a visit to the hospital.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is what I was talking about…just 3 and a half freaking pages, just so I could write some bits of the action from Gohan's POV. I doubt this will be the last short Gohan chapter I write simply for the sake of writing in his POV during a big/significant event. **

**- J**

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	19. 18: The Delivery Boy

**18. The Delivery Boy**

**_Jordane_**

It was finally over; that nightmarish joyride that belonged in a summer blockbuster was one I never cared to experience again. As I lay on a cot in the E.R, I dreaded being rushed to surgery to remove the bullet Jack put in my side. I couldn't calm my heart or my mind from just the discomfort and fear of being in a hospital alone. From dentists to doctor's offices to hospitals, none were my favorite places to be, even more so than the average individual.

An EMT immediately discharged me to a middle-aged doctor with an appropriate dash of silver in his brown hair and stubble. His narrow glasses made him look intelligent and reserved—as if the white lab coat alone didn't accomplish it.

Pushing past my timidity and discomfort, I removed my shirt so he could examine my wound. He pulled the gauze bandage off of it, which the EMTs quickly taped onto me to curb the bleeding. When he hummed, my heart sped up.

"Do I need to go into surgery?" I asked tightly, ready to hear a "Yes".

"Actually, no. You were only shot once, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, the bullet isn't here; it went in one side and out the other. I'm surprised the EMTs didn't notice this exit wound back here." Safe to say, he wasn't the only one surprised, either. I was surprised I didn't notice it, especially being strapped to a gurney. "In fact, it's already begun to heal. The bleeding has slowed down immensely for a half-hour-old gunshot wound."

Smacked back into reality, I instantly tensed under the doctor's hands, suddenly worried about my secret being exposed, until I caught familiar fragrance of apple and maple—the same scent I recognized Renea by.

As the doctor gathered fresh gauzes, tape, and cotton swabs, I glanced at the name engraved on his coat in blue knitted cursive: Dr. Don Rose. Renea's father. "You are one lucky young lady, Jordane; lucky you didn't get shot anywhere else, and that Gohan intervened and saved your life."

Stupidly, on impulse, I asked how he knew my name. He simply smiled and said, "Renea mentions you quite a bit at home. She really seems to enjoy your company at school."

I smiled modestly, my nerves slipping away. "Renea is a good friend. I can't see how anyone who meets her cannot love her." Dr. Rose chuckled, his green eyes beaming with fatherly pride.

"That's very kind of you to say."

"Just out of curiosity, how did you know Gohan got me out of the bus safely?" I remembered seeing news helicopters; perhaps he saw the news on one of the many television screens throughout this hospital?

The answer was hardly what I had expected. "Actually, Gohan called me just before you arrived here; he called to inform me of the big load I was going to have because I actually hadn't watched the whole ordeal on the news. To prevent any problems, he asked me to tend to you myself. A wonderful young man, Gohan; so many people owe him thanks, myself included."

My previous bewilderment regarding Gohan's personal phone call to Dr. Rose was replaced by a sudden spark of intrigue; not of the positive feedback toward Gohan's actions, but the way Dr. Rose spoke of him was odd. Not necessarily in a bad way, but rather a surprising way. After all, they weren't related by blood, and yet Dr. Rose's voice held such patriarchal affection and pride to accompany his words. It caught my attention so much, I encouraged him to continue. Before he did, however, he briefly glanced my way hesitantly.

"Gohan is a very quiet person; he keeps personal matters personal. I suppose someone like him would be described as an individual who has skeletons in his closet. But the thing of the matter is, he earned all those skeletons from being the hero he is, from bearing the consequences of humanity's weakness and inability to defend themselves from evil in any shape or form. He never wants praise or reward for the deeds he's done, but I always remind myself to thank him in one way or another every day; for the rest of my life I will be one of the millions who owe him my life." Dr. Rose's gentle voice was dense with a profound, mystical sense of bittersweet honesty; it captivated me, just the way an enticing first paragraph in a new book would, and I listened.

"Three years ago, the world was in turmoil, for the second time in two years. Inhuman beasts infiltrated a new event called the Intergalactic Martial Arts Tournament—much grander in scale than the World Championships we celebrate here. Gohan and Vince alike participated in the tournament, and so we bought tickets to watch the two of them fight. When all hell broke loose, Renea and the others all found their way to Gohan and Vince, despite the protests of us parents. They managed to slip away and find the boys, but doing so put them in extreme danger—even for our brethren.

"Where they were, we could see on large display screens in the amphitheater; it was being broadcast all over. You have no idea how horrifying it was, to see my fourteen-year-old daughter fighting giant brutes and being driven into the ground. I felt utterly useless and angry that I couldn't get to her; the hosts of the event closed off the entranceways to the battle grounds. One of the fiends had Renea crushed and cornered, and as he was about to drive a blade through her chest, Gohan broke free from the muddle he was in and rammed into the monster before it could lay another finger on my daughter.

"He fought and fought with all the energy he had until the cretin was lying dead at his feet; he used up precious energy and power saving my daughter when he needed it in order to stay alive against the ringleader of the villains. But of course, as Gohan always does, he pushed himself to his breaking point to make the world safe once again, and he brought my daughter safely home. I remember that reprieving moment when through the crowd, I could see the boys carrying an injured Vince and there was Gohan's pale, bloodied figure, carrying Renea in his arms. Without her, my family—my life—would be nothing. So this is just one of the many reasons as to why I have come to love Gohan as a son, and why I will always be indebted to him."

I hoped Dr. Rose didn't take offense that I didn't say anything in reply, because really, I didn't know how to react to the story he told me. _I need to learn to stop being surprised so easily by this guy. _After all, his rushing to the hijacking had to say something about his character in that matter. _No more, _my exhausted mind begged. Being constantly surprised was so tiresome.

"He really sounds like an amazing person," I responded honestly as Dr. Rose gently dabbed at my wound with cotton balls.

"He's one of the bravest, most honorable young men I've ever known in my lifetime," he agreed. "Anyone who knows him is a very lucky soul, in my opinion. People like Gohan don't exist every day." I whole-heartedly took his word for it. He wrapped my waist up in a bandage quietly and delicately; I didn't feel much pain or discomfort. I had a high tolerance for pain, but I always thought being shot would hurt like a mother, especially only an hour after I received the wound.

"There, now that we have that taken care of," Dr. Rose hummed to himself, pulling away the tray of supplies. "Now, which of your parents would you like me to contact first?"

Oh, great. I'd forgotten… I was a minor, so I couldn't slide by this without my mother knowing. She's going to just love this, my second hospital visit in a row. Hey, maybe that'd be enough motivation for us to move back home, you never know. I reluctantly gave Dr. Rose my mother's cell and work number.

"I'll get to that, and in the meantime, my dear, you go ahead and relax here. Would you like some morphine, to dull the pain?" He looked surprised when I said no; still, he left me his pager number if I should change my mind. As he went off to help other patients, I continued to lie there in the cot, growing increasingly lonely. It was definitely the first time I'd ever enjoyed a doctor's company, instead of being nervous enough to crawl out of my skin.

I would have visitors before my mother would arrive; Dr. Rose left the sheet open in my box, so I was able to see another cot across the room from me—the patient sitting in it was the little girl, Angela. Dr. Rose was tending to her, though I didn't remember ever seeing any injuries on her. And yet, he continued to sit there with her for a good ten minutes. It was easy to see how Renea was such a pleasant, compassionate person; with her father's gentle nature and her mother's generosity, it was impossible to fathom any daughter of theirs growing up to be anything less than what Renea was.

A tawny woman came bustling around the corner, her face bursting with happiness and relief when she saw Angela. I didn't need to guess; Angela's outburst of "Mommy" was enough confirmation. Usually, I wasn't easily touched by touching family moments, but seeing Angela scooped up in the arms of her elated mother brought a smile to my face.

Angela met my eyes for a second and then she began pointing at me, saying something to her mother I couldn't quite make out over the buzzing of voices and medical equipment. Before I knew it, Angela's mother took her by the hand and began walking toward me with eager, curious eyes.

"My daughter says you're the one who helped her and Cody on the bus," she said, another sheen of water building up over her already red and swollen eyes. Sitting up, I sheepishly smiled.

"I suppose that would be me."

The mother sighed, clutching her daughter closer to her. "I wish I could explain what it was like, watching the news at home and seeing my children on a hijacked bus, dangling over asphalt at sixty miles an hour… But honestly, there are no words to describe that horror as a parent. I can say, however, one of the wishes a parent can have is that a guardian angel is watching over their children, in one form or another. You must have been that angel, I swear to the gods."

Her words left me stunned, with a small and warm coil unraveling in my stomach. I could feel the blush on my face. "Thank you for the kind words," I said, scratching behind my ear. "But I'm really just a small-town girl who happens to know how to kick butt when needed. I'm no angel."

"Yes, you are," she fervently insisted, smiling.

"Well, then, I suppose you should also thank a man named Abe as well; he was as involved with helping your son and daughter as I was." With this, there was a sudden jolt to my heart with the reminder Abe had been shot. When Dr. Rose came by again, I'd have to ask him about Abe…

The mother took to my remark, nodding, keeping Abe's name in her mind. "Is Cody going to be okay?" I asked, out of concerned courtesy. His mother nodded in relief.

"He's still in surgery, but he's stable. They should be finished soon. But thank you so much, again. Let me give you some money, as a reward, please."

My mouth dropped open in a silent "O". "N-no, you don't have to."

"Please, I insist; I need to do something to repay you for what you did for me and my kids—"

"No, really, I can't take your money," I insisted firmly, but still compassionate. "You don't have to pay me. A 'thank you' and seeing Cody and Angela okay is more than enough." I gave a big smile to emphasize my point. To my relief, she let it go, her hands recoiling from her purse.

"Well, thank you again. God bless you." Angela said goodbye as well before she and her mother went off to the waiting room. As overwhelmed as I was from the fervent thanks of the joyful mother, I couldn't ignore the fluttering warmth in my stomach, and the sense of overwhelmed pride at the fact I helped save a bus full of people. Because I chose to act, a boy and little girl would be returning home with their mother tonight.

Smiling, I laid back down. Just as I was about to relax and drift off, I heard my name from an indisputable voice. _Oh no… _

I spent the next five minutes assuring my mother I was fine, that the bullet went through-and-through. But apparently, Dr. Rose would have to repeat all this in order for my mother to take it to heart.

"Your daughter is quite the hero, Ms. Teague," Dr. Rose commended, smiling at me. "Many passengers from the bus all say she sprang into action to keep everybody safe. You should be proud."

Mom sighed, nodding. "Trust me, I am proud, but I just hope these impulsive heroics don't become a habit," she said, glaring at me on the last note. I simply shrugged innocently. Dr. Rose escorted Mom and I to the front desk, where my mother could sign the discharge papers. Before he went off to tend to other matters, I quickly asked:

"Dr. Rose? I was wondering if you could tell me the condition of a passenger from the bus…?"

His fine brows rose, but his expression was still accommodating. "Do you know the name?"

"Only his first; he's a man named Abe. He helped me and many other passengers on the bus. He's a Marine, around six foot, dark gray hair. He came in because he was shot—twice in the chest." How many people named Abe could have come to the hospital in the past two hours?

Dr. Rose asked the nurse at the desk to look up anyone named Abe who had been admitted in the last two hours. He glanced at the information on the desktop the nurse provided, taking only a moment before returning his gaze back to me. His eyes were sad. "An Abraham Jones was admitted to surgery around the same time you arrived here, from the bus hijacking. I'm sorry to say, but he lost too much blood, went into cardiac arrest and passed away in the middle of surgery."

Little needles pricked and prodded at my heart, turning my insides cold with sadness. Somehow, his death hit me harder than I thought it could. After all, he was just a stranger I'd fatefully happened to meet.

_He didn't deserve it… _I suddenly remembered his son, who would be getting married, who was probably sitting waiting at the restaurant for his father as we speak, wondering why he hadn't shown up. My stomach twisted in a cold knot, eliminating the warm butterflies from earlier.

"Thank you," I said to Dr. Rose, as he continued to fill in my mother on my down-time.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it'd been nearly five hours since I ate. "Mom? Do you have a couple dollars so I can get something from the vending machines?" She whipped out four dollars from her wallet without saying a word, and I dully went off down the array of halls to find a waiting area with vending machines. It took two turns for me to run into a sign above the hall with an arrow pointing to "Lounge Area/Vending Machines". My stomach growled louder, echoing an irritation that I would have to settle for vending machine snacks when what I really wanted was a huge three-course meal… A crisp, fresh garden salad, a big plate of chicken and rice, drowning with teriyaki sauce…And a heaping slice of chocolate cake for dessert.

Turning the corner, my daydreaming of food exploded in a puff of smoke when I saw a figure lounging lazily in a chair by the vending machines—a figure I would have least expected to be sitting there. When his black eyes looked up at me from under black, spikey bangs, I had to remind myself yet again to stop being so surprised by him.

Willing my legs to keep moving, I walked past Gohan with a simple glance of acknowledgment and turned to the vending machines, scanning the selection of chips and crackers. I was hungry enough to take one of each kind.

"Since you're up and walking, I take it you're going to be okay." His soft voice came from behind me, but I was too tired to react.

"Yeah," I said, turning to him. "I'll be fine." Somehow, I wasn't as thrilled about it as I should have been. Or maybe the whole reality of the ordeal just hadn't sunk in yet. I turned back to the vending machine and picked a bag of Doritos, punching the number in eagerly. A grunt of frustration escaped from my throat when the bag of chips was caught on the spiral. "You've got to be kidding me," I growled, slamming my head against the glass.

Wordlessly, Gohan came beside me, reached for the machine and jabbed his knee to the side panel. The chip bag shook with the machine and dropped from the spiral's clutch. Ducking down to retrieve the bag I faintly smiled at Gohan in gratitude. "You must spend a lot of time here, if you know how to work the vending machine's quirks."

"Vince and I do a lot of job shadowing at this hospital with Don, so yeah, I've figured out the vending machines' dark secrets." A subtle smirk played over his face, and he lightly kicked at the machine with the tip of his boot. I snickered, picking another bag of chips from the machine and then going over to the soda machine to get a root beer.

"If you don't mind my asking, how in the world did you know about the hijacking?" I knew he had to be capable of some things most human minds couldn't fathom, but I never did well with vague answers.

"Like everyone else in the city, I saw it happening on TV, when I was running an errand for my mother. I took off the instant I saw the hijackers were more than willing to put bullets into someone's hide."

I nodded in solemn gratitude. "Well, thank you. I wish I could do or say something more, but…"

"Don't worry about it. It's all in a day's work," Gohan said sincerely, giving a little chuckle to close his remark. I would never know what to say or how to express gratitude to everyday heroes such as police or members of the army; with Gohan, it was strangely different in its own way. It resembled a superhero comic; a teenage boy who deceivingly appeared to be an average outcast in society, when he was secretly a super-being who flew around saving everybody. I've always loved comic-book superheroes, and as if he wasn't fantastical enough already, Gohan was just like those heroes I'd admired as a little girl.

"Why were you so quick to ditch the crash scene?" My question changed his demeanor to a more business-like tone.

"Don't take it the wrong way, but I just didn't want to be seen there, with you. My family's been in the limelight for a long time because of our…family tradition, so to speak. And the press would have been all over you too, if they saw I'd saved you."

"Why does everybody treat you like a celebrity around here?" My question made him chuckle, and he leaned against the wall adjacent to the vending machine, crossing his arms.

"I don't really know why, to be honest. People just connect my family and me with strange global phenomena and find reason to stick to us like glue. There's only one person who milks the most out of all the attention, though." With a silent tilt of my head, I encouraged him further. "Hercule Satan. I'm sure you've heard of him by now?"

"Yeah, everybody just won't shut up about him." It's true; I've heard and seen his name far more than just my first day at school. He's even been mentioned in our history books—something I couldn't quite understand, since it's only been five years since the Cell Games even took place.

Gohan snickered once more. "Well, he's become the richest man in the world because of that."

My hands idly held my unopened chips and drink, a certain question poking at my skull from the inside. "Answer me something," I began in a low tone, "Did Hercule Satan really defeat Cell, or was it you?"

An odd, somehow nostalgic smile pulled up the corners of Gohan's modest mouth; when his eyes found me, they were alight with intrigued vivacity. "I think you already know the answer to that."

Did I? _Of course you do. _

I found my mother's eyes at the end of the hall, flashing in curiosity and eagerness when she saw Gohan standing beside me. "I take it that's your mom?" Gohan's polite inquiry actually filled me with disappointment that my mother was there and ready to take me home.

"I should go," I sighed, not even desiring to move from Gohan's side. I turned back at him and smiled, immediately wishing I hadn't.

"Go home and get some rest. I'll see you at school." His face was so genuine and yet so subtle; the velvet faintness of his voice uncoiling my tight muscles. With a final nod, I walked away from him and to my mother, who began asking me questions as to who I was talking to. Once we were in the car and driving, I was too exhausted to explain everything, so I guiltily said he was just a classmate who was job shadowing at the hospital.

Walking in the threshold of my house was more of a relief than I imagined; Gohan's presence still haunted me, Abe's death still burdened my conscience, the whole incident left me shaken and mentally exhausted. I was more than happy to trudge along to my bedroom and collapse into my bed with a loud sigh of appreciation. Sinking into the mattress, I was too comfortable to change into pajamas; I just shed off my jeans and slept in my shirt and underwear. The skies outside my window were finally beginning to darken with the oncoming night, but my world already went black when I closed my eyes.

My early turn-in time at seven o' clock very well merited an early awakening later that night. When I finally opened my eyes, it was still dark and cold; then again, what else could be expected at three o' clock in the morning?

Treading downstairs, I made my way silently through the kitchen, cooking a ham and cheese Hot Pocket in the microwave. Malibu jumped up on the counter and meowed, pressing her face against my chest. I scratched behind her ear in fondness, quickly picking her up and setting her back down on the floor. "You know you're not supposed to be on the counters, missy."

Taking my plate back up into my room, I fired up my laptop and sat at my desk in the retreat off of my room. Nothing was happening on social media or anywhere else, so I pulled out my notebook and read over what poems and songs I'd written. As I fished for inspiration for a new verse, my mind shifted back to my conversation with Gohan at the hospital.

I didn't know a singular thing about this Hercule dude, other than he was the Martial Arts Champion; from what I've seen of Gohan, it wasn't at all too difficult to imagine just who could have been capable of saving the world.

I fired up a fresh Google search page and typed in "Cell Games, Son Gohan" and the first result took me to an archive of a news station's website, where a vastly long article strew along the page. With aching eyes, I began to read.

_One of the most astronomical disasters and mysteries in our planet's history was undoubtedly the threat of a strange alien creature who called itself Cell. He declared to the world an idea derived from a long-time tradition: he would create a martial arts tournament of his own, calling the competition the Cell Games—two words that struck mindless terror into the minds of innocents. The date was set, in May—giving people only a week to ponder and accept the doomed reality. _

_The current reigning martial arts champion, Hercule Satan, declared his place in the competition, claiming Cell's evil tirade would end by his hand. However, he was not the only contender. _

_For years, the band of martial artists known as the Z-Fighters have been at the scene of every phenomenon to transpire in history similar to the Cell Games; leading them was Son Goku, the previous world martial arts champion before Hercule Satan. He and his band of warriors also participated in the Cell Games, creating quite a stir with the old and new followers of the martial arts tradition. _

_Hercule Satan was the first warrior to challenge Cell, but the match was shockingly short-lived, as Cell sent Hercule flying from the ring—literally. After this, Son Goku faced the tyrant Cell, and in an unbelievable, almost supernatural display of power came close several times to finished off the monster. However, Son Goku withdrew from the fight and appointed the next challenger: his eleven-year-old son, Gohan. _

The mention of his name in the article sent a lively chill through my body, making my weary mind aware. The next bit of text, however, made me chortle.

_Mistaken for a "delivery boy" by lead ZTV reporter [James Cane] Goku's son quickly proved he was instead a challenger for the monster, displaying extraordinary fighting ability that shouldn't be possible for any normal child. Despite Mr. Satan's persistence that the deceivingly amazing abilities were simply tricks, the world was left in awe of just what the boy could do. _

_What really happened at the Cell Games, however, will continue to remain a mystery. After an earth-shattering occurrence during Cell's fight with Son Gohan, all news cameras went down, along with any other ability to document the fight. For three hours, the war continued, sending the world in a tail-spin of natural disaster and chaos, until, finally, all went still. Hercule Satan returned to the city, and told the story news cameras never had a chance to capture: he had defeated Cell. Another miracle was performed later that day: the slew of cities and countries whose civilians were murdered by Cell had risen back from the dead. _

_Hercule Satan has a vast legion of followers and firm believers that he was the one who defeated Cell; there remains a modest amount of society, however, who are not satisfied with the missing holes in the broadcast and Hercule's vague story, and therefore speculate that the Son family were instead responsible for Cell's defeat. It surely would not have been the first evil they have purged from our world, but with the Son family having never stepped up to claim any victory and Hercule's untouchable fame, perhaps mankind may never know just who really saved the world._

I'd heard and seen my fair share of spotty politics, but this ranked high on my list as one of the most ridiculous stories I'd ever heard. I suppose it was the normalcy bias; to me, a kindred spirit of Gohan's, the victory obviously belonged to him. I found it impossible to believe a typical human—no matter how allegedly strong or famous—could take on something as cataclysmic as what Cell was depicted to be.

Scrolling down further, I found a few video links, with descriptions under each one. The first video in line was titled The Opening Mark of the Cell Games. The description below read:

_The first broadcast of the commencement of the infamous Cell Games. _

As the video played, I found myself unable to distinguish intentional humor or plain idiocy on Hercule Satan's part. For as intimidating and powerful of a man as he looked, with broad shoulders, a full head of black hair in a frizzy afro, a sharp goatee, and piercing blue eyes in contrast, he acted like a total moron.

Since it was useless to decide whether to watch mutely or laugh my face off, I skipped through the boring introductions until something interesting happened. A group of nearly a dozen warriors falling in from the sky and landing gracefully on the ground beside the ring counted as something interesting.

At first, I thought perhaps I was watching a parody or a reenactment of the event; I had never seen people levitate in the air in reality, but there were no special effects, no obvious giveaways of wires or cheap illusions. It was all real. My heart raced with excitement, witnessing such things I'd long yearned to be true.

Keeping in mind this was five years ago, I scanned the faces in the Z-Fighters group, trying to spot Gohan and his father. There was only one black-haired man, but he was far too short and harsh-looking to be either of them. His hair was utterly gravity defying, making me pause the video just so I could briefly analyze the crazy `do before moving on.

The camera finally focused in on the group—particularly four; a lean, simple-looking man with upstanding blonde hair and aqua eyes beside a shorter, bald man, and behind them stood a tall, bizarre green-skinned being dressed in turbans. Finally the camera rested on a smaller male specimen, who looked no older than a pre-teen. There was something familiar about the blonde-haired boy, in the way his milk-white skin gleamed healthily in the sun, the straightness of his nose, and the shy movement of his lips when he spoke… Then there were his eyes, the same aqua green as the older male; there was something so sincere and yet so somber in their depths it melted the core of my conscience—very much reminiscent of someone else whose mysterious eyes hit a chord in me with every blink.

_It's you… _I had no possible idea as to how or why his hair was blonde and his eyes were no longer a deep coal black but instead a lively green; I just knew it, somehow in my bones, that the boy was Gohan.

I paused the video when the shy boy had turned to face the camera for a fraction of a second—unintentional, I'm sure, for he looked utterly caught off guard. As if it would uptick the resolution on the video, I leaned in until my face was only inches from the screen.

The longer I gawked at the eleven-year-old version of my classmate, the more I ached inside. The beautifully innocent boy made my heart ache with the yearning to know him—to be able to jump into that time and place so I could see him, hear his voice… To know what was there that could make him grow into such a stoic, detached alpha warrior.

Blinking, I uttered a harsh sigh, enough to shake off the remaining effects of my little daydream. _Get a grip, girl. _I let the rest of the video play, only to find it unbearable because of Hercule Satan's disgusting displays of ignorance and egotism.

Finally, Goku had risen to claim his spot as Cell's next challenger. In the hour of watching that video, my jaw became sore and stiff because it had dropped open from the very moment Cell and Goku had engaged in combat. More often than not, they'd be moving so fast, the camera could barely catch them in frame.

Next, an exhausted and tattered Goku forfeited to Cell, calling upon Gohan. There was a rush of protectiveness inside me when Goku told his child son to fight in his place. The yearning came again; the desire to break through space and time to protest, to shield a child Gohan behind me and protect him from the brutal fight awaiting him.

I knew the Gohan of today, though; he didn't back down from any challenge, he could very well take care of himself; he stood fearless and unyielding to those who'd dare contest him. Somehow, as much as I wanted the little boy to be safe, I couldn't imagine him allowing others shelter him, or bowing out like a young omega. And he didn't. Gohan flew down onto the desert battle-ground to confront Cell, and for countless minutes, the two super-beings stared each other down with such resigned force, I could feel the intensity as if I were standing between them.

The extraordinary power and ability not possible of any mundane child was then revealed, exploding with light and fire and energy. I thought Goku's fist-match with Cell was jaw-dropping, but this very quickly exceeded that point in intensity. Gohan held his own wonderfully, but his good luck streak couldn't last forever.

Some of the torture he endured warranted squeaks of panic and horror from my throat; there were some instances I closed my eyes because it was just too much.

_You can barely watch it on video… Just imagine what it must have been like to actually be there, and be on the other side of those blows… _

Finally, the physical torture stopped—at least, for Gohan. In a genetically confusing instant, Cell created seven miniature versions of himself and sicked them on Goku and the other fighters. Befuddled, I stared at Gohan whenever the camera would pan over to him, skeptical and sympathetic of how he just stood there petrified and bewildered. The sadness tugged at my heartstrings when I could see the glossy line of tears running down his face.

Swifter than a snake's strike, the scene changed; the distant blood-curdling cries sent horrible shivers through my already cold body, and with a gut-wrenching awe I realized it was Gohan. The camera's picture was shaking uncontrollably—or was it the whole earth? I couldn't be sure, all I felt was disappointment when the picture went kaput.

The images from the archive footage stuck to my memory like glue, leaving me unable to fall back asleep. So, I stayed up the remainder of the night, recreating the images on the smooth paper of my sketchbook.

* * *

><p>I patted myself on the back for the dozenth time for remembering to have my mother sign a permission slip for our class field trip to the Satan City Museum of History and Science. It was my first day back at school after going ahead and skipping the day after the hijacking happened. As to whether word had spread about my ordeal, I'd find out soon enough.<p>

"She lives!" Kyle's buoyant greeting from out of nowhere would have startled me, if I hadn't heard his tennis key-chains rattling on his backpack as he approached. He had a nice smile and face, I had to admit, but unlike most girls he'd charmed, I wasn't as fond of its origins.

"Yep," I scoffed lightly, shutting my car door and turning to him. Five school buses were parked one behind another, waiting for the teachers to receive permission slips and take roll call.

"It's so crazy you were there," Kyle pondered gravely.

"Well, it's definitely spoilt the likeliness of me using public transportation again anytime soon," I said half-wittedly, pulling my backpack tighter against my shoulder.

"No shit." Kyle's humorous chuckle shifted to a sheepish titter, and judging by his sudden restlessness and fidgeting, I had a premeditated idea as to what subject matter he would bring up next. He remained wordless for a few moments, so I quickly glanced to the bustling scene ahead of us in the parking lot, and my eyes locked on to Gohan's figure, strolling casually to his place in line. Accompanying him were his wolf sisters Jasmine and Jade. As if I'd called to him, Gohan's calm black eyes inescapably found mine, and held them there.

"So, listen Jordane, I was thinking… Ah, I know it's not for another two months…" It was as if I was wrapped in a thick blanket; Kyle's voice slipped away, and all I was so intensely focused on was Gohan face, as if it were the light at the end of a tunnel. In an instant, his blank expression morphed into an amused, contorted smirk, as if he was struggling with all his might not to burst into laughter.

"…Jordane?"

I blinked, freeing myself from the trance-like stupor. "What?"

"What do you think?"

Crap, what did I miss? A part of me didn't want to know. "About what?"

Kyle flashed a look as if I'd hit him below the belt with my knee. It wasn't necessarily the painful reaction, but the expression before pain: shock. "Do you want to go to the Summer Formal…with me?"

_Ooooohh crap. _"Uuumm. Summer Formal?" Kyle nodded, obviously still hopeful, despite my first reaction. I couldn't come up with a good lie, so I told the truth. "Well, to be honest, I'm not into school dances; I haven't gone to one before and I seriously doubt that's ever going to change."

Kyle looked appalled. "Seriously?" he breathily sniggered. "What girl doesn't like to go to a school dance?"

_You may think you have the female mind figured out, buddy, but I'm not your average female specimen. _"I don't," I emphasized again, uttering a half-cynical laugh. "Me and dancing; we don't go together." The mortified but adamant fire in Kyle's eyes gave me the verification he wasn't going to take no for an answer so easily this time. So, I had to come up with a lie.

"Can't you just make an exception, this one time? I mean, we don't even have to dance; just go with me, please."

I tensed, my muscles locking in place the way they do when a nerve's been hit. If I were in my wolf pelt, my hackles would be standing on end and my ears would be flat. I didn't find it too admirable or cute that he was harassing me with petty plights. Before he could notice, I swiftly changed my demeanor. "Oh! Damn, I wouldn't be able to go to the dance if I wanted to anyway. My mom and I are flying back to Washington that weekend to visit my family. We'll be staying a week."

Any hope remaining in Kyle's stiff face dropped like an Acme anvil. "Really? You guys can't reschedule and go after the dance…?"

What in the world was it going to take to shut this guy up? "No, we already paid for our tickets—non-refundable." Finally, that seemed to do the trick. Kyle's shoulders finally sunk, and he nodded.

"All right, then."

"Why don't you ask Lacey?" In the month-and-a-half I've been here, it was impossible to not notice how Lacey clung to Kyle; how she'd flirt and hang over him any chance she could, and the spiteful scowls she'd throw at any girl Kyle talked to. In my eyes, those two were perfect for each other.

Kyle simply shrugged, giving a mumbling "See you later, then" and walking for his group. When I looked for Gohan, he was already at a half-turn for the bus, but I could see the ghost of a grin on his face before he was out of view. My cheeks went warm. Obviously, he heard Kyle's whining fest. I don't know why I was embarrassed about it, but it just got under my skin. I guess I'm just not used to others listening in on my business.

I rode the same bus as Gohan and the girls, but we didn't acknowledge each other the entire drive into the heart of Satan City. The bus ride itself was nearly an hour, but it was worth it once we reached our destination. In all the travels I went on with my family when I was younger, I never went to a place as grand as this museum. The first exhibit we visited was one of millions of years in the making, with prehistoric sets and dinosaur fossils, which drove me nuts with wonder. I absolutely loved dinosaurs. When most little girls played dress-up with Barbie dolls, I read dinosaur books, memorizing each species, and watched _Jurassic Park_ while simultaneously playing with the movie's line of dinosaur toys.

I snapped more and more pictures with each exhibit we rotated through, with Kendra giving feedback on certain snapshots. The next exhibit was a lineup of historical man-made events of the world; the area consisted mostly of recreated scenes of war and such trivia. Actual pictures taken during several global wars—including both World Wars and Vietnam were enlarged on massive canvases, allowing one to see every detail of the heart-wrenching scene. I was once again reminded of Abe, my spirit of adventure sinking the moment his name was spoken in my head. I wonder which state he was from back in the U.S.? It was unlikely he was from Washington or Oregon, but it was interesting to think so. All my uncles' friends back in their younger years died in Vietnam, and I could still see the pain in my uncles' eyes whenever they would mention those friends who'd been claimed by war. I thought of losing Amanda, Sara, and everyone else I knew in a swift motion of time, and shuddered with dismay.

The next exhibit, however, numbed my mental pain and discomfort when I heard the words, "Cell Games". The exhibit was strange, nestled in a corner, with a rocky desert background painted on a wall, with a white tile floor structure and pointed, spear-like columns on all four corners.

"…For those of you who can remember, this is a representation of the tournament ring—much smaller, of course—that Cell had created to be used for his tournament. Its design is far more sophisticated than our tournament rings, but its vastness allowed it to serve its purpose."

Aiming my camera at interesting angles, I took pictures of the structure, as my classmates walked around it.

"I remember that Mr. Satan was knocked out of the ring by Cell within the first few minutes of the fight," a boisterous student declared humorously, meriting snickers from a couple other students. I could see the divide Kendra had talked about the first day I was here; some people believed Hercule Satan killed Cell, others believed different. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see Gohan, emotionless and stone-faced. Jade and Jasmine were still beside him, rolling their eyes.

The students were free to wander about the displays; I, on the other hand, lingered around the Cell Games exhibit, reading any sample of text available. At least the history lesson was honest, rather than flat-out declaring Hercule defeated Cell based on just his word.

"Taken an interest in this, have you?" I was so invested in what I was reading Gohan's sudden presence startled me. "Sorry," he then mumbled, standing by my side.

"I suppose you can say I've taken an interest in this, yes," I answered, gazing down at the slab of text in front of me. "You did defeat Cell, didn't you? There's no way Hercule Satan could have."

A ghost of a smirk came to the corner of Gohan's mouth, a silent confirmation of my suspicions. "Why haven't you come forward and put an end to all the guessing instead of letting Hercule take the credit for it?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders with a small quirk of his mouth. "Because it doesn't matter if people knew we defeated Cell. The world is safe; we all get to live and fight another day. If someone wants to go ahead and get rich and famous off a catastrophic event like that, there's nothing stopping them on my account. I'd much rather they get all the publicity and drama than me."

His last notion startled me; he didn't speak with any distasteful tone, but I suddenly experienced that sinking feeling of regret I always got whenever I said the wrong thing. "Um, why do I get the feeling I should be apologizing for implying you cared about being famous…?"

With this, Gohan looked at me, raising his brows in surprise. "You didn't," he said, "You were simply asking me why I didn't take credit for something I did; it's perfectly normal human nature to want to be credited for your efforts and accomplishments. You didn't imply I cared about fame."

The sheer honesty of his voice and expression made it easier for me to forget of my mental blunder and raised another question I was itching to know. "I'm sure this is a stupid question, but… Have there been other incidences like Cell—like, people trying to take over the world?" I had an inkling the answer was "yes". After all, how could Cell be the only supernatural catastrophe to happen in the history of our world?

Gohan didn't meet my eyes for a moment, gazing at the pictures with a reserved sense of wariness. "You sure you want to know? I mean, knowing stuff like this shatters one's grip on reality quite a bit."

"Well, that's okay, 'cuz the reality I've been living in is too boring." We shared a humorous smile. I was glad he didn't display impatience towards my questions.

"Yes, there have been other incidences like Cell—many, actually. Battles with beings like that have been going on since before I came around. Cell was hardly the first enemy I've fought on my own, but he was undoubtedly the most difficult." Gohan's face was still outwardly vacant of expression. I knew from the get-go he didn't let people in easily and didn't like to show weakness; he was good at hiding what he felt or thought.

I knew it may not get me anywhere, but I still had to ask. "How long have you been doing this? Fighting the bad guys, I mean."

"I fought my first battle alongside my father and the Z-Fighters when I was five."

His open answer struck me; not just that he answered straight-forward, but the answer itself. "Seriously? Forgive me if my reaction is a bit much, but where I come from most five-year-olds don't choose a life like that."

"It wasn't exactly a choice of mine; I had no choice in the matter. But I suppose as I got older, I did choose that path in the end. It's been all I've ever known to do, really." I caught glimpse of a fleeting emotion in his eyes, a marginal incline of his brow. I wanted him to face me, so I could read those black eyes and look into the past he hid from everyone.

Those eyes did finally come back to me, but their defensive veil returned. "What?"

Crap, I'd been staring! "Sorry, it's just you get this look in your eyes, like you're off somewhere distant. It's a look I sometimes see on my uncles whenever they tell me stories of when they served in the military."

"Your uncles were soldiers?"

"They're Marines, yes; I have second cousins who are military, as well, who all served in Vietnam together. My closest cousin is a Marine, too. He was shipped off to the Middle East before I moved here." The constant thought of my cousin and his upcoming struggles in war still frightened me to death, but not quite in the same way as when he was first deployed. I wasn't fretfully energetic or disarranged in thought; I was just numb.

The lines of Gohan's young face conveyed empathy—not pity, but empathy. I'd learned to tell the difference.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said somberly.

Minutes passed in silence between us; thankfully, our class was taking its time with exploring the exhibits in that venue. I ignored any wary glances I'd caught from our classmates when they decided to direct their attention from the exhibits to Gohan and I.

"Have you or your dad ever fought in normal wars—like between nations and countries?" This question either made me sound like a broken record, or an idiot. If Gohan or his father had ever fought in wars of the sort, I'm sure they would have resulted in fewer casualties and they would have been the ones to call, rather than sacrificing the lives of countless men and women.

"No. It's not what we do. We protect the earth and its people from threats they cannot counter; we don't butt in to wars mankind starts on its own." Gohan's simple and clear-cut answer was a bit of a hard brush to my conscience and emotions. If he hadn't already explained why he didn't get involved in such battles, I would have asked—demanded—to know why. Images of the video footage from the Cell Games flashed through my head, making me picture that sort of supernatural warfare with the warfare of the real, mundane world.

_My cousin and thousands of other men and women are sacrificing their lives, all for the twisted politics, money, or power of world leaders; Gohan and his father have the power to end wars with the swipe of their hands. _I must not have been as diligent as I thought with my outward expression; I could feel Gohan's eyes on me, studying me intently.

"I can understand if you are upset," he solaced with a cautious voice. "It's as complicated of a concept to understand as it is to explain."

"Well, please try," I demandingly spurred, crossing my arms. I hated never having an explanation for the way things were; I hated being left with unanswered questions. The thing was, though, he didn't really owe me any clarification. I should have just respected his life choice and leave it be.

Sighing, Gohan looked away from me to the exhibit in front of us, slipping his hands in his jacket pockets. I could see him thinking in that long stare of his; picking and choosing his words carefully. "I won't lie; we are perfectly capable of ending the wars governments and politicians create amongst countries. And trust me, very often, my father and I wish we could end those wars, just for the sake of saving people from having to die for government or power."

"But…?"

Those black eyes hardened once more—crystalizing with the veil of cold truth. "It may save the soldiers and civilians today, for this era, but it won't end war. There is always going to be another war. There is always going to be a dictator of government who wants power, there's always going to be that one stray soul who wants to cause chaos for the sake of tradition, religion, prejudices, or personal satisfaction. There's always going to be corruption in the world, and people will die because of it. As horrible as any war is, we can't fight every battle that comes along just because we have the ability to do it with ease. Mankind has created ways and means to endure and win wars; they'll continue to do so as war evolves through the ages. It's as if they can't survive without starting wars amongst each other. On the other hand, mankind is defenseless against beings like Cell. Those are the battles we fight, because people can't combat those enemies themselves. As much as I'd like to save everyone from every evil act in the world, I can't. It's a cruel reality I often find difficult to accept, but whether I accept it or not doesn't change anything."

His monologue was undoubtedly an earful, but it stifled my obdurate and demanding attitude. It made sense, in a morbidly poetic way. Peering sideways at me, he appeared wary and tense, as if he expected me to slap him across the face and storm off.

"Well," I sighed, fidgeting with my camera, "That does make sense. It is sad, but true." Gohan made a small, breathy exhale, as if relieved.

Two visitors came chirping up happily to their little brother figure, and they both smiled brightly in greeting me.

"Hey, Jordane!" Jade peeped, giving me a welcoming hug. The petite little girl was shorter than my five-foot-six height, with hair that was light-weight and spikily feathered. With sharp but tiny facial feature, her bright green eyes were almost cat-like rather than wolf-like. She was just adorable. Jasmine merely smiled at me, looking more grown-up than the average seventeen-year-old with the way she dressed. It wasn't that she wore skanky clothes, no; she had a very mature and very feminine wardrobe consisting of a loose V-collar tunic, a simple leather belt and skinny jeans complimented by heeled boots and shimmering jewelry—all of which looked to be products of a big-name label. She was definitely the femme fashionista, even more so than Renea, though I could see the two of them working together in a career of fashion design.

"What have you two been talking about? You look as if you're at a funeral. Come on, the class is going to leave for the next exhibit, with or without you." Jade hurriedly ushered Gohan and I in the school group's direction.

The next exhibit had to be my favorite, hands-down. I was nearly knocked on my behind when I crossed the threshold to a dark five-story dome, filled with gleaming lights and three-dimensional projections of planets, the Milky Way, and every space phenomena imaginable. I was a kid in a candy store. Ever since I was a child, I was obsessed with the Moon—rightfully so—and the rest of space. Sixth Grade Science had been my favorite class not just because of the teacher, but because we studied space objects and planets. I was probably the only teenager I knew besides Amanda who madly collected glow-in-the-dark-stars and pasted them on their wall.

As I snapped picture after picture, I honestly felt as if I was floating in space. Gohan wasn't standing as close to me as we had been, but was still nearby.

Needless to say, I was very disappointed when our time was up and had to leave.

"Hey, Jordane." Jade trotted up to me once the buses had emptied out and students made their way back to the classrooms. "There's a party tonight at a buddy's house at nine; would you like to come?"

Me and the word "party" being spoke in the same sentence was odd an unnatural. I'd never been to a party in my life that wasn't a holiday gathering or for a birthday. "How many people are going to be there?"

"It's a big party; a quarter of the school, maybe?" Well, at least she was honest about it.

"I'm not going to be able to," I said, stunned at the disappointed hue to my voice. "There's no way in Heaven or Hell my mother would let me go to any party." Jade's shoulders slouched, her brows furrowed.

"Awh, that's too bad. Well, if you change your mind or find out you can go, give Renea a call and we'll swing by to pick you up." After sharing a hug with Jade, we parted ways to our classes. Her offer lingered in my mind as the school day ended, leaving me shocked that I actually considered going. I didn't belong in crowds or parties, and they didn't go well with me. I wasn't trendy or social or a wild child—at least, not _that_ kind of wild child.

The predicament would eventually reach Paul, who hopped online to video chat with me after school—a wonderful surprise I desperately needed, since Amanda wasn't in the mood to talk much at all.

We had so much to catch up on. I told Paul every detail of my new life here, starting from day one; how Mom and I were almost hit by a car, how I met Gohan and his friends, my new school, which teachers I loved and hated, what antics my fellow schoolmates engaged in that drove me crazy, and about the bus hijacking. He wasn't too happy to hear about it, but upon my elaboration of the tale and the fact Gohan saved me, he let it go. I couldn't resist but to tell him about Abe and how I felt somewhat responsible for his death. Paul consoled me, saying Abe didn't die in vain; that it was a Marine's job to protect people, even at the cost of his own life—something I already knew, but it didn't relieve my sorrow on the matter.

To switch over to a lighter subject, Paul asked if I had made any friends. I told him about Kendra and the girls; he laughed when I mentioned Kyle and his infatuation with me, something I didn't find at all humorous.

I elaborated on how Gohan and I finally managed to get along, and he was taking it upon himself to "train" me how to use and harness my Saiyan powers.

"That's great, Jo," Paul said, his voice full of pleased relief. "Glad to hear you're making friends. Especially that Gohan kid; that's just whacked he's the same as you. Maybe now you can get the direction you need."

"I hope so," I sighed. "It makes me feel a little embarrassed, though. While on the bus, I took something Gohan said into serious thought when I needed to subdue the hijackers; just like that, in an instant, I released an energy wave without a strain of thought. It makes me wonder what else I'm capable of doing and how easy it was for me to harness it."

"You never had anyone to teach you," Paul amended. "Don't be embarrassed over something you can't control, Jo. Now you have some people who are willing to help you achieve your Saiyan potential, so just learn what you can from them." Nodding, I was intent on learning all Gohan had to teach me, however he was going to teach it. One issue I had, however, was the fact I didn't understand why he was still so careful; how he was insistent on not being seen with me—or rather, me not being seen with him; it couldn't be just because of the unwanted fame. Neither had he given me any other notice as to how he was going to achieve his goal of teaching me something that was very hands-on.

"So, you've been more outgoing, it sounds?" There was amusement and humor in Paul's question. I knew he admired my stern intellect and independence, but he always told me to let loose a little bit and enjoy the social aspect of being a teenager.

"I don't know," I admitted honestly. "I was invited to a party by Gohan's friends earlier but you know my mom won't let me go. You know how she is. Besides, I'm not a partier."

"Well, you're certainly not a get-wasted-and-fuck-things-up partier, but why don't you just go to the party?" To hear such encouragement from him threw me off.

"Are you kidding? The only way I can ever get to that party is if I sneak out!" I hissed, jerking my head toward my window to emphasize.

"Why not? Go ahead and sneak out! Be a teenager for once. Don't you want to go?"

I sat and thought carefully. I knew, in the back of my mind, I would regret going, simply because of the crowd and noise. But I've done worse; after all, sneaking out to brawl with other werewolves couldn't be less terrible than sneaking out to a harmless party. Could it?

"Jo-Jo, go ahead. Live a little. But don't be stupid, ya here?" Paul abandoned his light and encouraging tone for a strict, paternal tenor.

"Ah, Paul you know me. 'Responsibility' is my middle name." We both shared a small snigger.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hm looks like Jordane is starting to get a taste for being a hero… We'll see where that takes her.**

**Well, Abe the heroic Marine is the first character death in the story…even though he's just a side character that is only featured in one chapter, it was still bittersweet to have him die.**

**I really enjoyed writing the museum scenes, though that heart-to-heart conversation between Gohan and Jordane took a while for me to construct; I didn't want Gohan to reveal too much about his experience in the Cell Games because I didn't want to spoil what will happen later in the story; plus, as it'll become obvious later on, the Cell Games are something he doesn't share/talk about much, even with his best friends. But we'll get into that later! Hope it was a decent little bonding chapter :)**

**- J**

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	20. 19: Why Not

**19. Why Not**

**_Gohan_**

Parties like this were only enjoyable when accompanied by Vince and the others. This would be my pack's third time attending as bouncers to a party held by human schoolmates. We've even been paid for the time. It's hardly what I'd expect to do as a job, but it was a way to harmlessly earn some extra money, and it offered a good opportunity to keep things in check, with both human and werewolf party-goers.

The guys and I rode in Vince's white pickup while Renea and the girls took the Hummer to pick Jordane up. The fact she was coming gave me a peculiar sense of calmness. The more often I was around her, the more I became accustomed and comfortable with her presence.

Reflecting back on the field trip from earlier today, I surprised myself with how open I was with her. Sure, it wasn't as open as I could be, but it was quite significant. In fact, her curiosity and yearning for answers made me come to the conclusion this wasn't going to work, giving her little bits of advice all the while keeping my distance from her. She had some things working for her, but it would take more than the occasional meeting with me to get her where she needed to be. If she was going to trust me in order to work with me, I had to try a different approach.

Through the entire night, I found myself searching for that answer as I stood in a corner with Vince, gulping down highly carbonated sodas while keeping an eye on the hyperactive scene in front of us.

"Ah, there they are!" Ian called out from the serving bar, and my eyes followed him as he strode across the great room for the foyer to greet Jade and the rest of the girls. I spotted Jordane instantly, chuckling upon noticing everything about her posture and expression screamed she was ruffled and uncomfortable.

It was amusing; I saw myself in her at that moment, when I attended my first party with Vince and the others. I was such a fish out of water; it was so overwhelmingly new I actually wound up with a sick stomach and had to leave for home.

After waving to Vince and I, Renea took a skittish Jordane by the wrists, guiding her—or rather hauling her—out to the makeshift dance floor. All the while, Jordane was politely objecting, sinking back like a submissive dog. She wound up on the dance floor either way, and I watched with an entertained smirk on my face as she struggled to move to the music. Renea moved and glided in smooth lines to each solid beat, while Jordane's makeshift dance moves were restricted and awkward.

Returning to the serving bar in the kitchen with Vince, I went ahead and picked up another drink. We were probably one of the few teenagers in the party who weren't lacing our drinks with alcohol; the stench of it in the house was potent enough to make me crawl out of my skin. Vince, having grown up around the fragrance of alcohol, wasn't as much affected by the scent. But he would never touch a bottle or can of beer ever again, and for damn good reason.

"Hey, baby," Renea crooned, sauntering up behind Vince. He happily turned around into her arms and they shared a tender kiss; I glanced away out of respect, only to land on Jordane's fluttering eyes. Her mouth quirked into a delicate smile of greeting; I returned the gesture.

"Gohan, Jordane, why don't you guys hit the dance floor with us?" Vince's suggestion raised a red flag; I could hear the playful, daring hue in his voice. Only he would understand the meaning behind my irritated glare.

"You know I don't dance," I reminded him flatly. He raised his hands submissively, obviously amused with his little joke, and he accompanied Renea back out to the dance floor.

"I didn't quite peg you as the partying type," Jordane innocently remarked, joining me by the kitchen counter.

"I could say the same for you," I accused lightly. When she bowed her head with that flustered little smile, I took my chance to elaborate. "Vince and I are really just muscle for hire; like bouncers, so to speak. A lot of the kids who hold these parties don't want to risk having the cops called if someone gets a little too drunk and wants to stir trouble."

Nodding, she uttered a breathy reply of comprehension. "So, what's your excuse for coming, then?" I asked her, watching her expectantly.

"I was curious, I guess."

As the party continued throughout the night, Jordane lingered close to me; whether she found comfort or security in my presence, I couldn't tell, but neither did I mind. As long as she was around me, I could focus on keeping the peace elsewhere.

As it would turn out, my attention would be needed to settle a dispute between two boys who were serving one another a couple knuckle sandwiches because one had started boasting a rumor around school that he was sleeping with the other guy's girlfriend. It took only the flit of my wrist to separate the both of them, as easy and effortless as carrying paper. Upon laying sight on Vince and I, the boys didn't retaliate. In seconds, they were limping away like whipped dogs, and I kept an eye open to be sure they wouldn't cross paths for the rest of the night.

It was as funny as it was peculiar that regardless of any errands or intentions I had, I always wound up back beside Jordane. It was somehow instinctual to return to her, as if she was a magnetic beacon.

I returned to her just as she turned away from a peculiar-looking fellow, whom I instantly recognized by his crazy electric green hair. Louie Tahk, an oddball in every sense of the word. When I saw the bottle Jordane held in her hand, I jumped into action just as Louie smiled at her and left.

"Don't drink that," I warned eagerly, startling her with my sudden haste. "Louie mixes those drinks himself." Jordane's brown eyes glanced down at the bottle she held and back up to me with wary concern.

"Is there bad stuff in here?"

I made a slight noise of contradiction. "I wouldn't say there's 'bad' stuff in his drinks; there's just…stuff."

"Is that a fact based on personal experience?" The curiosity in her voice was utterly apparent; I wouldn't deny her the story.

"You can say that. I was fourteen when I came to my first party; Louie was handing out his home-made drinks, claiming they were just soda. Well, there may not necessarily be alcohol in there, but there is definitely some sort of hallucinogen that makes your brain go haywire. But I didn't know; I took the drink because I wanted to be polite, didn't want to say no to the guy. I ignored the tangy taste of the soda and drank the whole bottle and next I knew, I was stumbling and slurring. To everyone else, I'm sure I looked drunk, but only Vince knew what was going on with me. I haven't touched one of Louie's drinks since. But I suppose it's not the worst thing he could do, being part werewolf and all. I've been dealt far nastier hands."

Jordane's eyes shifted back in Louie's direction. "He's part werewolf?"

"Mhm; his mother is a werewolf, his father is a warlock of sorts. That's how he can concoct some crazy things using herbs and powders you've never heard of. You couldn't tell he was one of us?" Jordane looked away from me upon hearing my inquiry.

"Any werewolves I came across in Washington all stank…like a boy's locker-room and expensive, overbearing cologne all in one. Other werewolves that smell different, I don't think much of."

"So when we first met, you didn't know I was of your brethren?" I was hardly being judgmental; at least, I hope it conveyed this way.

"That's right. You didn't stink like others I'd been around, so it didn't cross my mind you could be a werewolf." It made sense.

"What do I smell like to you?" I had to keep the length of my smile in check when I saw hints of pink dust over Jordane's pale cheeks. Clearing her throat, she answered.

"I've never had to answer this kind of question before," she tittered, folding her arms. "You smell nice." A pause, then she shrugged. "You have a natural bouquet in the way you smell; like mint and pine." I had to smile after hearing her words; not necessarily the words themselves, but how she spoke them—in such a timid and honest sense it was impossible to imagine she was capable of lying. "Gohan?"

"Hmm?"

"This is very random, but I'm curious; my mom told me that on full moons, Saiyans changed into a creature of some sort. Apparently, my dad would never go out and do things on full moons, and he wasn't shy in explaining to her why that was. What is it more dangerous about turning into that form as a Saiyan than turning into a werewolf?"

Without saying a word, I led her away from the crowd and into a corner in the back of the den just off the great room. Leaning against the wall, I tried putting the words together in order to explain it in a way she could grasp. She wasn't an idiot for not knowing all this; there was a time when both my father and I were this ignorant of our heritage. It wasn't always grand or pretty, but we've come to embrace it. This might as well be the first lesson in the training: informing Jordane of our heritage so she can learn to accept it as well.

"A wise old friend of mine once said Saiyans and _Loup-Garou_ were like distant, intergalactic cousins; we're both Children of the Moon, who draw power from whatever paranormal waves the Moon emits to make us transform. Both species are naturally bred with violent temperaments and instinctual tendencies; but for werewolves, it's easier to control that inner animal than it is for a Saiyan to control his inner beast. There isn't just a physical transformation; it's as much psychological as it is physical. When Saiyans transform, we take on a form that slightly resembles an ape, but more with an elongated snout and ears, almost like a wolf. We're more dangerous because one, we're as tall as a moderate sky-scraper; two, everything we see, we want to destroy. Anyone and anything is our foe. It takes a hell of a lot of willpower and mental strength to overcome that instinctual overdrive of your mind and keep your sanity. But, thankfully, if your tail is removed, you won't transform. It's quite a conundrum how something as simple as a tail has such an effect, though; not even the brightest scientist in this city has been able to find any scientific elaboration for it."

Jordane nodded with each example and explanation I gave her; her brown eyes were narrowed with seriousness, her mouth pursed in a straight line. Her apparent concentration, I had to admit, was pleasant and amusing to see. When I asked her if it all made sense, she confirmed it did. She asked me if I had my tail removed at birth as she did; I wished I was lucky enough to have my tail removed during infancy. I was five, in the middle of intense martial arts training, and left clueless as to why my backside hurt and just how my tail was magically gone the very morning after I witnessed a full moon for the first time.

"It was like I blacked out," I explained, tapping the lid of my soda can. "I was looking at the moon, then it became all I could see, before everything just seeped red and faded into black. It was the strangest thing, even more so when I woke up and found myself without my tail. I have an old friend to thank for removing it, though."

"At least you were knocked out," Jordane snorted with a snicker, giving a positive shrug. I grinned, all too familiar of just how fortunate I was to have been unconscious when my tail was removed—unlike my father or Vegeta, for that matter, who both were very well conscious and aware of the pain.

"Wait," Jordane uttered, a slight jump in her voice which instantly drew my attention. "You said your tail was pulled out, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, if the tail is connected to the spine, how does that work out…?"

"According to research Don and another doctor have done, there are two vertebrae which connect a Saiyan's tail to his spine. If you pull the right pressure at the right angle, it is possible to disengage those two vertebrae without injuring the spine. A full-blooded Saiyan who, shall I say, is an old acquaintance, says that the vertebrae disconnect there as a resort in case someone were to get a hold of the Saiyan tail, the tail would absorb the majority of the damage while salvaging the spine and body for the Saiyan to continue fighting and to survive, if that makes sense."

"I suppose it does." From this, Jordane veered over to a new topic. She inquired—rather enthusiastically, I might add—what abilities I had mastered as a Saiyan. I was rather flattered she was taking such interest in my abilities and reacting to them with such enthusiasm. I had to keep in mind not everything that was mundane for me wasn't so mundane for her.

Levitation, flying, energy attacks, apparation, and telepathy were all second nature to me; for Jordane, I could see it was as if her favorite fantasy universe had come to life. There was another side, as well; a timid embarrassment in the shifting of her eyes and tense posture as I elaborated on some of the simplest abilities to perform as a Saiyan. With a mental slap to the head, I realized I wasn't easing her mortification. I could see disappointment in her eyes at all she had missed out on, talents she hadn't been able to master.

"It's different for everyone," I added promisingly. She peered up at me through her short black lashes, smirking. She caught me.

"You don't need to sugarcoat the situation for the sake of my feelings," she said with a sigh. I didn't say anything to confirm or deny her implication; I only smiled at her as she did me, looking on at the party from the refuge of the little den.

The longer we lingered around one another, the clearer the answer to my dilemma became. I'd done nothing but straight brainstorming and pondering ever since the bus incident, but any answers I found weren't the convenient arrangements I had hoped to stick to for training Jordane. I had been trained enough in my young life to know what it took; I didn't get to the levels I was at by having my mentors take shortcuts. Not that, of course, I was aiming to make Jordane a powerful warrior—hardly. But in reality, there was no wisdom worth having that wasn't hard-earned; I couldn't give Jordane the tutoring she needed by keeping my distance and slipping her little snippets of advice under the table.

The irritating, insatiable voice in the back of my head that blared a warning whenever I was around Jordane had gotten on its last nerve. What harm was there, in teaching her the first steps in becoming a skillful and structured Saiyan, and gaining a new friend in the process?

Grabbing the both of us another bottle of soda, I escorted Jordane from the rambunctious disarray of the party and out to the far end of the front yard, just below a limping willow tree. It was quiet and isolated; no one had any reason to be outside unless they were in the back yard. From what I could see in the neighboring houses down the road, no neighbors had been woken up by the ruckus. Yet.

"I'm jealous of you." Jordane's curt confession caught me off guard; I turned to her, perplexed. She only smiled. "I'm jealous that you got to drag that loser out of the house and throw him into the pool. I have yet to take part in such a luxury myself."

I laughed. "Don't be jealous. You'll have plenty of opportunities to do that yourself down the road, I'm sure."

"I hope so." Although we were referring to violence—something proven to be rather unhealthy with Jordane's temper—I found her spirit endearing. If she maintained this sort of motivational drive throughout her training, it should go smoothly. But I couldn't quite bring myself to say the smoother the training would go, the quicker she'd be out of my hair.

"Speaking of opportunities," she began, taking a small swig of soda, "Do you have any more life-saving advice to give me, about controlling my powers, I mean?"

I could see in her eyes she was truly yearning for something new to test herself with. Smiling, I looked down at the blades of grass as they yielded to the night breeze that swept through the neighborhood.

"I have plenty, actually. But before I start tutoring you on this, I want to make some things clear." Tilting to my head over to her, she shifted tensely, as if expecting to hear an unpleasant forewarning. "In order for this arrangement to work, I need to have your cooperation, patience, and trust in all I have to teach you." I would be an idiot if I didn't catch on after all this time that she had trust issues. If she wasn't going to trust me to the utmost level, she wouldn't get very far too fast.

"I trusted you enough to jump off a speeding bus going seventy-miles-an-hour and into your hands, didn't I?" Her voice was void of her typical cynicism or snarky nature; she simply held my gaze with her own somberly, waiting for my response. I couldn't help but smile in recalling that instance she took that leap of faith in herself—and me.

"Touché." Perhaps the ice would be easier to break in that department. But I couldn't ignore the elephant in the room; I made a mistake in letting my friends dive head-first into something they had no idea of when they met me. I couldn't afford to make the same mistake with another soul. "But Jordane, I need to make sure you fully understand what you're getting into. There is a significant positive to gain from training under me, but there are also negatives. The public attention isn't the reason why it's unhealthy to hang around me."

Jordane's quizzical expression urged me onward. "Remember when I told you about Cell, and how he wasn't the only enemy I battled? Well, my family and I are to say the least, danger magnets. There is always going to be turmoil in the world, but the worst of it inexplicably find its way to me and my father, and whoever else is close to us are always caught in the cross-fire."

I didn't expect the response I heard. "When Renea's dad was helping me in the hospital, he told me how three years ago, Vince, Renea, and the others were caught in the middle of a fight at this martial arts tournament, and you saved Renea's life, even though you had thugs beating you left and right." She looked very resigned yet respectful about the territory which she treaded, similar to how she always looked when inquiring about my personal life.

"Yes, that's a prime example of what I mean. Vince and the others had no place being there, but bad timing and unfortunate circumstances leading back to me got them into that mess. The only reason I trained them in the basics afterwards was so if chaos hits again, they can have a better chance at defending themselves."

"So, is that why you're so reluctant to train me personally, is because you don't want me getting into trouble?" There was no ridicule or even sweetness to her voice; she was so indifferent and plain about the subject, as if it weren't near as dire as it actually was.

"It's one," I admitted humbly, now staring out to the soundless night abyss. I was going to elaborate, but recoiled. I still wasn't quite sure just how much I wanted her to know about me—my secrets, burdens, philosophies… I had to remember there was a more than seventy-percent chance she wouldn't understand where I was coming from; that she was still human enough to want to run away on a moment's notice. It bruised my pride for me to admit the idea made me a little sick inside.

I could see the faint outline of distant houses either unoccupied or doused of life for the night. The distant hills called to me as always; I tolerated lingering in the city, but the foothills and forests of the mountains was my home. Its blissful impression made the blood in my veins sing. I couldn't wait to have this babysitting over with so I could return home.

"Well, whatever the reason, thanks for your concern, I guess." Jordane finished off the last drops of her drink. "You know, I've been thinking about it lately, and I realize I owe you a great deal of thanks to you for saving my butt—three times now, and two times within just the past few days." She didn't have to list the incidences; they were very fresh in my mind, but I didn't hold them there for the account of her owing me anything. "Actually, I feel kind of weird making you work some more, having to train me and saving my ass from disaster in-between."

I faced her now, smiling. "It's really nothing. You don't owe me anything, Jordane. It's just what I do."

"Still," she insisted softly, twisting the empty bottle in her hands.

"If training you goes as smoothly as I hope it will," I began, looking her in the eye, "You won't need me to be hovering around you all the time to save you. That'll be enough of a reward for me."

Smiling, Jordane nodded, apparently satisfied. "All right, that'll work. So, when do we get started?" Like an On and Off switch, her vigor and spirit became apparent, and instead of just her hands fidgeting, her whole body shifted and moved with an over-abundance of energy. This was a slightly similar Jordane to the one who laid eyes on Lightning for the first time—so giddy and beside herself she didn't know what to do with all her excess energy. Whether this was a side of her Kendra and the others saw or not, to see her eyes alight with such excitement and positive vitality put me in a very satisfied mood.

"Haven't we already started?" I smirked, meriting a snarky response from Jordane, who glared at me with slight amusement and timidity. The expression was fleeting, and curiosity occupied her eyes once more. "What?" My voice was on the edge of defensive; she had never openly stared at me before—at least, not with me being so aware of it.

"I want to know more about you," she responded evenly, watching me with a probing scrutiny. "And I want to know more about your past, the experiences that made you who you are—and I still need to learn just who that is entirely."

The statement was so curt and straight-forward, it threw me off. Having someone openly admit they wanted to get to know me wasn't something that happened every day. I was clueless as how to answer her.

Perhaps I could buy myself some time to ponder on the matter. Sighing, I gazed down at my immobile hands, mentally kicking myself to utter the request that had been germinating in my head all night. "Well, I can't guarantee anything, but maybe we'll have a better opportunity to get to know each other over dinner." Tilting my head in her direction, I had to bite my lip to refrain from bursting into laughter at the dumbfounded face Jordane made.

"'Dinner'?"

"Yes, dinner," I confirmed, struggling to keep my voice even.

"Like, you coming over to my house for dinner…?"

I finally uttered a small snigger; it was hardly a relief, though. My cheeks were beginning to ache from the constant strain of all the smiling I'd done in just the past half-hour. "No, I mean dinner as in you and I going to a restaurant together and socializing." Jordane's face went one shade paler than usual. For the slightest moment, I dreaded perhaps this whole endeavor wasn't such a good idea.

"You mean like a…date?"

That word… I wasn't quite warmed up to it yet. I pursed my mouth. "No … Just two acquaintances, going to dinner in a public place; I wouldn't exactly call that a date." Really, it wasn't a date; I had no intentions whatsoever for it to be of that nature.

"How does Friday sound?" Three days should be enough time for her to wrap her head around the idea, shouldn't it?

For a few moments, all Jordane did was stutter, sigh, and stutter some more until she finally uttered, "Sure." I caught the slight hue of a question in what should have been an answer rather than an inquiry, but it was an adequate response.

"Great." The enthusiasm in my voice was unexpected and rather alien to me—at least, for this type of situation. Regardless, I still hoped to the gods I was steering both Jordane, and myself, down the right path. "Well, it looks as though the party's finally wrapping up; I should get back to my watch. But I'll guess I'll see you tomorrow." Hauling myself to my feet, I gave her a carefree pat on the shoulder before I could think about it and walked back for the house.

The clean-up took at least an hour within itself; select few elected to stay behind and help out, while most of the partiers ditched for home. Among those who stayed and did their part were Jordane and girls, who left earlier than I did after cleaning their fair share of the mess.

"Goodnight, guys!" Renea called to us, giving Vince one last peck goodbye as she led the rest of the girls out the door. When Jordane inexplicably turned to meet my eyes once more, I didn't hesitate to wave goodbye. Her returning gesture was just as much on the shy side as my own, and her eyes were still wary with the curveball invitation I threw at her earlier; regardless, she smiled a silent farewell before disappearing behind the door.

"What was that all about?" Vince was beside me in a heartbeat, eyes narrowed in investigative scrutiny.

"What was what?"

"Jordane's been flustered and sort of out of it ever since you guys came back from outside. What did you say to her?"

I shrugged, reactivating my blasé façade. "Nothing, I just asked her if she'd like to go to dinner with me, you know, so I can get to know her better and figure out how to train her."

"You're shitting me!" Vince's eyes became clearer and wide with astonishment. "You actually asked her out on a date?"

"It's _not_ a _date_," I muttered through my teeth, setting my jaw. But it didn't matter how I spun it; nothing could wipe the cocky grin off Vince's face the rest of the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gohan as a party bouncer…bet ya didn't see that comin' haha. Well, if not for the sake of having fun like a regular teenager, then he might as well hang around to keep an eye on things/make sure nobody does anything stupid! **

**Is it a date? Not a date? Hmm ;) **

**- J**

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	21. 20: Opening Doors

**20. Opening Doors**

**_Jordane_**

"Okay, _what_ is going on between you two? You've been hanging around with him a lot lately," Kendra goaded eagerly as I shimmied back into my regular clothes. She saw Gohan and me casually talking throughout the day, particularly in P.E. There was no use in denying he and I had gotten a little comfortable with socializing in the public eye the past few days.

"Nothing is going on," I insisted, stuffing my workout clothes into my locker and closing it. Kendra was still in her underwear, too distracted by the latest juicy gossip of the school to focus on changing clothes.

"You know, people are already spreading rumors that Kyle and Gohan were fighting for your attention today." Her observation left me stunned; if I was taking a swig of liquid, I would have choked and spewed it all over myself. Where in the hell did that rumor come from?

"Just from today, in P.E.?" My voice had more of a demanding edge to it than a confused inquiry. Kendra simply shrugged her petite, delicate shoulders.

"Word travels fast in this school, especially when it comes to popular cliques."

"Where the hell did all this gossip stem from? I know Kyle more than possibly has a crush on me, but what in the world threw Gohan into the mix?"

Kendra sighed, sitting on the bench after squirming into her jeans. "You were on Gohan's team, Kyle was on the opposite team; he's known for being a tennis geek, but he was dishing out some serious moves for just a simple game of kickball… Not to mention Gohan looked like he was…"

"What?"

"Strutting," Kendra snickered. "He seemed to be enjoying playing a simple P.E. game a bit more than usual, and I think it's because you were there."

I let out the loudest, raspberry of a scoff to dismiss her claim. A couple girls peered over my way before returning their attention elsewhere. "I don't think so." Kyle competing for my attention, I could see—hell, he'd been on a roll ever since the bus hijacking to get me to hang out with him. I was beginning to run out of excuses to keep telling him no. But the idea of Gohan playing along with the same intentions? I just couldn't see it. I mean, I knew the guy was subtle, but he bit my head off not even two weeks ago when I accused him of liking me in that way.

Growling, I shook my head. I didn't need to get a headache, especially with the monstrous pile of homework I had. Thankfully, Kendra didn't pursue the subject in the five minutes it took for us to leave the locker-room and make our way outside to the parking lot, where we were both stunned to see Gohan standing leisurely by my car.

"See ya," Kendra squeaked zealously, giving me a particular smile as she turned away. I regained my composure by the time I reached Gohan.

"What's up?"

He smiled at my greeting, as if the fact he was waiting for me was no big deal. "I know this is rather short notice, but I was wondering if maybe you'd like to study together today, since we have that lab to finish for Biology. Does that sound all right?" How could he look so damn casual and yet sound like he was actually looking forward to it? I just stood there like a brainless idiot with my mouth open.

"U-um sure, I guess that'd be a good idea to get it done as soon as possible. But where would you like to go?" The word "house" popped into my head with a hint of anxiety; the idea of being in his house or him being in mine wasn't something I'd prepared myself for.

"I would suggest my house, but it's not exactly a short commute. Is your house okay?" Without a second thought, I went ahead and confirmed. Gohan smiled, returning to his car; he followed me as I led him to my house. Traffic was horrid, so the drive took an extra half-hour, bringing us to my house forty-five minutes after three. Managing to keep my cool as I led Gohan to the front porch, I sighed. It's been a long time since I've introduced someone new into my home—my sanctuary—so my anxiety wasn't without due reason.

"Sorry if the house is a bit of a mess," I apologized beforehand as I turned the key into the doorknob. I heard Gohan hum a soft laugh behind me.

"Don't worry about it. I have a five-year-old brother; I'm used to messes."

Opening the door, the habitual fragrance of lavender greeted me, easing the taut muscles in my stomach for the time being. I took a quick gander to see if there were clothes that needed to be picked up or dishes that needed to be cleared from the counters, but save for the full sink of dishes and some papers sprawled out on the living room table, nothing appeared to be outrageously disorganized.

"I think your definition of messy and mine are a bit different; this isn't bad at all," Gohan said lightly, searching the domain with his eyes. Sure enough, Lizzie heard us come in from the hallway and came trotting over to greet me in her usual manner. I watched as she moved on to Gohan, who extended his hand out for her to sniff and investigate. He waited until her tail began to wag to pet her. And as Lizzie always did, she drank in this visitor's presence with excitement and glee. To see him smile at her eased my spirits some more.

"Is studying out here all right?" I asked, directing my hand to the living room.

"Of course." As Gohan sat on the sectional sofa, he dug into his backpack to find his assignments while I skipped over to the kitchen to fetch a snack.

"Are you hungry or thirsty?" I had to remember how to be a good host; whenever I would have my friends over, they knew they were welcome enough to help themselves.

Gohan would serve to point he was one of those overly-polite guests who waited to get comfortable enough before indulging in amenities. "I'll just have water, please."

After fetching some ice water for the both of us, I joined him on the sofa and arranged my binders, books, and notepads. Having decided to tackle the Biology homework first, we breezed through the assignment within a half-hour. I usually tended to save the worst homework—which was math—for last, just for the sake of not holding up the rest of my assignments; History, English, Art were whizzed through easily enough.

In taking a little breather, I glanced over at Gohan, who had seven different books and three binders, all chuck-full of paper. Each textbook had some elaborate title and subject to it.

"Just how many classes are you taking this trimester?" I couldn't help the stagger in my voice. Gohan peered over at me in a resigned manner, as if he expected me to ask this question sooner or later.

"A fair few," he responded vaguely.

"'A fair few'?" I snickered, looking at the textbooks once more. "Last I checked, we were in high school, not college. I heard that you were smart, but…"

He shrugged with a breathy chuckle. "A few of the extra classes I'm taking are college courses. It's just how it's always been for me. I've always been at least two steps ahead of the average curriculum for kids my age."

"Well, I'd say it's more than two steps. Try five." My impish statement made us both laugh and snort. It was obvious Gohan was used to being joked and bantered with about his impressive aptitude. Even from a newbie acquaintance like me, he didn't take any insult from my fun.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" I asked him, his nose buried in a monstrous Advanced Statistics textbook. As if on cue, there was a faint grumbling sound from his stomach, soon followed by my own bodily exclamation of hunger. We both snickered quietly, the tense, solemn atmosphere broken. "You know, I can make something if you want. One thing I do know about being a Saiyan is the appetite," I assured him, walking into the kitchen. "What do you like?"

"I'll just have whatever you're having. I'm not picky." I figured he'd stay in the living room and continue studying, but as I gathered the ingredients to make my favorite comfort food, I turned and found Gohan up and walking around the open house. He stopped by the cat-tree, where Malibu and Smokey lounged. Malibu took to him well, but I was rather surprised when Smokey also greeted him warmly by letting him rub and pet behind his ear. Smokey had never been much of an affectionate cat, especially around men.

"Cute cats." Gohan smiled as Smokey rolled over, exposing his belly, practically begging for a rub.

"Thanks. Usually Smokey, the one you're petting, doesn't take too kindly to strangers."

"I've been told I have a special touch with animals," Gohan said lightly, turning back to smile at me. Snickering, I quickly returned my eyes to preparing the food, all the while taking silent glances at Gohan as he wandered humbly around the living room, observing pictures and artifacts of my family's life. He'd taken his leather jacket off when we began studying, but I refrained from looking in his direction then. I couldn't help but to peek over at him now, to watch the way his white T-shirt conformed to his body with just the appropriate amount of tautness and looseness in the right places. The muscles in his shoulders and back rippled beneath the thin fabric, making me shudder. I'd never known someone as powerful as him, someone who could cause their opponent to crumble with just the flick of his hand or the slight shrug of a shoulder, or even just the whisk of a glance.

And here I thought I was a bad-ass intimidator…

In a blink, Gohan was standing by the counter as I began to cook some bacon in a pan. "Smells nice," he praised, inhaling the aroma. "Just what are you concocting here?"

"Mac and cheese with bacon sprinkled with fresh-ground parsley." When he hummed, I took it as a sign of approval.

"So your mom works in real estate?" Gohan had found leftover folders and papers Mom had left sitting on the kitchen counter—home listings.

"Mhm, but that's only been in the past five years. The jobs she's always gone for since she was a teenager were waitressing, bartending—restaurant employment."

He caught on fast. "Was that the type of business your family owned?"

"Yes. My grandfather started a good-sized diner and ran it for thirty-some years, ever since my mom and uncles were kids." The melancholy tone had returned to my mood, causing my shoulders to slouch and my movements to slacken. I went ahead and elaborated, since I could see the question forming in Gohan's eyes. "My grandfather got too buried in debt to keep it up. On top of that, the area we were in grew rapidly in the past ten years; dozens of restaurants were being established at every block in the town, it seemed. Too much competition. In the modern world, sometimes having loyal customers just isn't enough, when those few only come in once every other day a week."

"I'm sorry."

I smiled at Gohan's genuine expression of solace and continued to prepare our snack without another word. "Life moves on, I guess."

I finished the cooking in silence as Gohan occupied himself with my pets. When the pasta and cheese sauce were hot enough, I dumped the cut pieces of bacon into the pan, dusting a few pinches of parsley on top. I hastily dished up the casserole, not bothering to sit down to eat because I was so hungry. Gohan needn't be called; he came right where I had set the plate for him. He must have liked it, because as soon as he took the first bite, he kept digging in for more. We both finished our first servings within minutes. We both shared a couple snickers together when he happily allowed me to dish up a second serving for him as well as myself.

"That had to be the best Mac & Cheese I've ever tasted." I looked at Gohan from where I stood at the sink, washing dishes. "The cheese sauce was just perfect. What kind of cheese did you use?"

"Mild and white cheddar, with crème instead of milk." Gohan's jaw shifted, as if he were savoring the taste in his mouth.

"Well, as I said, it was perfect. The spices were mild, and the bacon added nice smoky flavor to it, too."

"You sound like you know your food. Are you a five-star chef in secret, too?" For the first time since I've met him, Gohan actually brandished a full-blown cheek-to-cheek wide smile. I had to remind myself not to stare.

"No, I'm not; although, my mother cooks just as awesome as any five-star chef, in my biased opinion."

I smiled. "Well, we have something more in common, then. My mother and grandmother are quite the cooks, too."

"As you are," he added whole-heartedly with a warm smile. It was strange to see him smile so much at first, but I was quickly becoming accustomed to it. I liked to see him smile.

"Thanks," I blushed, placing the last plate in the dishwasher before closing the door. I chugged down what was left of my soda before looking back at the couch, where my homework remained unfinished. I grumbled.

"What's wrong?" Gohan asked, his smile untraceable now.

"Nothing, I just don't look forward to math homework, that's all."

"Oh." The humor slowly returned to his voice. "Math is an acquired taste, so to speak. I actually don't mind it."

"Well, when you're numerically challenged like me, you don't have much fondness or patience for mathematics." Regardless, I sluggishly returned to the couch, Gohan following soon after taking a bathroom break. My eyes were already glued to the text in front of me, which presented a ridiculously long and elaborate equation that left my mind twisted because there were so many factors to calculate.

"You know, I could help you with math, if you want." Gohan's genuine offer left me dumbfounded; I snapped my head up in his direction as he patiently awaited my answer.

"Um, thanks, but tutoring hasn't really gotten me anywhere in the past." That was partially the truth. The other reason was I had an issue with showing weakness of any kind—including mental weakness—I didn't take too warmly to the idea of showing Gohan what a brain-dead moron I was when it came to math.

"It couldn't hurt and you have nothing to lose. So why not?" He was being so damned nice about it, I felt like a jerk for telling him no. Curling my lip inward, I let my incisor poke the skin.

"I guess it couldn't hurt," I agreed with a sigh, shifting to a comfortably compact position as Gohan made his way across the couch, planting himself down just barely a foot away from me.

"Okay," he sighed readily, and I tilted the book his way so he wouldn't have to lean in any closer. I watched his eyes scan the equation, so swift and fast, I would have been skeptical on whether or not he was actually reading it. But of course he was; as soon as he was finished, I could see he'd already solved the problem in his head with no quarrel.

Unlike other past luck with getting help from Amanda or any other of my math-savvy friends, I actually had very little complications in understanding Gohan's explanations. Not only did he tell me the steps I needed to take, but he broke down those steps into even simpler micro-steps, giving reason and rhyme to each stage until I completed the ladder.

Before I knew it, I had finished the final equation. I gawked down at my packet, stunned. "I'm done?"

"You're done," Gohan confirmed. "That should just about do it for your homework, huh?"

Just as I was about to say "Yes", a reminder that had been in the back of my mind hit my skull like a careless hammer. "Crap! There's still one more thing. Mr. Smith gave me this makeup assignment…" As I dug through my binders and backpack, my heart sunk when I didn't find that important packet of baby-blue paper, the one that would determine the difference between me getting a D and a B grade for Mr. Smith's class.

"Gaah! Excuse me." I sprinted up to my bedroom. I couldn't remember leaving it in there, but I hoped to God it was. If it wasn't there, I was going to be in far deeper, nastier crap than before.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" I wailed in frustration, yanking out drawers and scouring shelves. A faint knock interrupted my hunt.

"Do you want some help?" And Gohan was standing there, in the threshold of my bedroom.

"I…don't know. All I know is if I don't finish this makeup exam, Smith is going to flunk me for this trimester."

"Mr. Smith is quite the insufferable teacher," Gohan agreed with a casual sigh. I didn't miss that he'd taken a couple steps into my room, but neither did I object.

"Insufferable!" I exclaimed. "How about unfair, narcissistic, cold, indignant, and pathetic!" Normally, when someone would laugh in response to my frustration, it only made me more irritable. When Gohan laughed, it was such a light, crooning sound—almost comforting—to where it actually helped me calm down.

"All those are quite fitting words, too."

"So you agree with me, but are just too polite to say those words yourself?"

"Could be," he said, smiling. His eyes veered away from me and took in my room casually, studying the pale gray walls and what they held. "Did you make this?" Distracted from my previous intentions, I turned my attention to Gohan's address, to find him looking at a wooden miniature barn painted red and white.

"Yeah," I answered modestly. "I know it probably sounds silly, but I made it for my Beanie Babies."

"I wouldn't say it's silly. It's creative. My brother would love to have a house like this for his toys. It would definitely make clean-up easier for me." From there, he went to observe the shelf which brandished my 4-H ribbons, trophies and pictures of Ziggy, in his strikingly dark dappled gray glory. "Is this your horse?" I nodded with a melancholy smile. "He's beautiful. I can see the Arab in him… Was he part draft, too?"

"Yeah, part Percheron, I'm pretty sure."

"How long did you have him?"

"I had him since I was ten, we adopted him from an auction. I trained him myself, with the help from a friend. He was a great horse."

"And he died in a barn fire?" Gohan faced me now, his brows knit in an expression of empathy and sadness.

"Yes. There was this woman boarding her horse at the same stables I boarded Ziggy at every other season; she never took care of it, let it starve and live in its own filth until people in the stables began taking care of it in her stead. We reported it to Animal Control, the horse got taken away, and out of revenge, she wanted to set the hay shed connected to the barn on fire, just to 'scare people'. She claimed she never meant to burn down the whole barn, but…"

He wordlessly egged me onward with the passionately curious emotion in his eyes.

"I had gone home from school instead of going straight to the stables as I usually did. I waited to go after dinner, and coming down the freeway I saw a huge cloud of black smoke down the street the boarding pasture was. By the time I had gotten out of the car and realized Ziggy was in his stall instead of out on pasture, the back end of the barn had collapsed. I went to where his stall was afterward… All that was left were ashes and burnt body masses."

"I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault."

I looked at him, plopping down on my bed. "You really are good at reading people if you can pick up that I'm blaming myself from my little sob story." Shrugging, Gohan continued to stand in front of me as he looked at my memories captured within picture frames.

"It's amazing what one's eyes can say which they never voice aloud."

"Touché."

I followed him into my retreat-slash-office, where I had hung some of my personal favorite pieces of my artwork around my desk, going back as far as middle school—the only time my artwork was decent enough for me to want to display anywhere. "You made all these?" His voice was even and resigned, unlike others who tend to raise their voice a few octaves when stumbling upon my artwork.

"Yep. That one I drew in Seventh Grade. It's one of my favorites." The one I was referring to was a pencil drawing of a medieval castle I'd etched out from scratch using three-point-perspective—it was my first time, actually. From the colors to the detail, it had to be my favorite of the older pieces I'd done.

Gohan's eyes eventually drew themselves from my walls to the open file cabinets, which held loose papers and old sketchbooks that had been filled to the very last page. "Do you mind if I look at these?" I went ahead and gave him permission to look at all my atrociously old sketches.

The only thing that made me nervous other than letting people see my current sketchbook was having people look through my older books filled with flawed, messy, and odd drawings.

Selecting a tattered sketchbook from two years ago, my jaw set as Gohan relaxed on the loveseat sofa opposite from my desk, delicately turning the pages. "That book's real old, so the sketches in it are awful." He just shook his head with a smile.

I didn't protest or object to him browsing through as many art books as I had, and he evaluated each page with the utmost attention to detail. "These are all real nice. Your progress through the years is real apparent and impressive." I couldn't help but take his compliments to heart, allowing a small grin to form on my face.

Finally, I sat down next to him on the couch as he continued surfing through the pages. Then, he came to the latest pages of my current sketchbook, which were filled with a certain equine character we were both familiar with. I would have felt a little embarrassed for Gohan to have stumbled across pages upon pages of sketches of his horse Lightning, but when his face lit up and he smiled, it was so infectious and warm it was impossible for me to feel displeasure.

"You captured him perfectly." For the first time in the twenty minutes he'd been sitting there, he looked at me with a gentle smirk.

"Thanks. I'm glad my drawings did him justice."

When there were no more drawings for him to see, I went back to searching for the thing I was originally seeking, and found it in the simplest place. Relieved, I quickly got to work and finished the make-up quiz while Gohan sat patiently reading. From there, we moved out in the backyard, where I threw the ball for Lizzie.

"Is this at all similar to what you had back in Washington, the house and property?" Gohan inquired randomly. I leaned back, supporting my weight on my arms, rubbing my fingers through the cool blades of grass. The memory of home came flooding back in a bittersweet wave.

"Not quite. The house I had was a bit smaller than this one, and our property was only half this much. It was cozier country living." A few minutes of wordlessness passed; Lizzie had abandoned playing and came to lie between us. I watched with a smile as she rolled over as Gohan began to pet her, rubbing her favorite spot on her belly. "You live up in the mountains, right?"

"Mhm," Gohan hummed contentedly. "It's quite a vast sanctuary. The nearest neighbor is fifteen miles away, and even that is just a vacation property for someone who lives in the city, so they are only there perhaps three times a year."

I scoffed. "I'd love to be rich enough to have vacation properties. I'd have vacation homes in the mountains here, at the Oregon coast, a little loft in France, and a couple nice cabins in Hawaii and Canada." Expressing just a small fraction of my over-the-top dream lifestyle merited a couple laughs from both Gohan and myself.

"I'm sure you'll be rich enough to be able to do just that someday," he assured me with a smile. "You've always seemed like a very passionate person to me, and seeing your sketchbook and gallery today just proves it. You're one of the fortunate few, I think, who can make a good living off doing what they love."

"I hope I can at least become a successful veterinarian or horse trainer; that's my goal, anyways."

Gohan rested his chin on his hand, tilting himself in my direction. "With the low tolerance you have for math, you want to study veterinary medicine?"

Snickering, I replied, "I know. I have my doubts, but my cousin Paul always tells me, if I want to do something that much all I have to do is put my mind to it and I can conquer anything."

"That's very true," Gohan said, his head still cocked toward me.

While I was in the open mood for sharing, I delved into my memory chest and revived one particular incident. "You know, not too long ago back in Washington, there was this little old lady who walked the same route that I did every weekend. The first few times I ran into her and let her chat with me, she asked if I had any plans for my future. You know, she was one of those people who always brought up personal things and took the conversation way too seriously. I told her I wanted to be a veterinarian and she said to me, 'I work as a nurse at the hospital and it is the best job in the world. You might as well go into nursing; the pay is better and you get to make a real difference'. That was one of the last times I let her talk to me again. I don't care if people say I should do something else because the pay is better or because they think it's the best job in the world. For them, it may be the best job in the world, but it isn't the same universally. Sure, I respect doctors and nurses; they have the passion just like I do—only mine is for animals. Animals make me happy. People are just too complicated and difficult. No offense."

"None taken," Gohan said with another smile. "That's good. I am actually happy for you that even will all this disarray in your life, you know where you want to go, and that's anywhere your passions take you."

"I'm just lucky I have a mom who let me surround myself with whatever I wanted as long as it made me happy." This was true. I didn't give my mother enough credit for it, but she did provide me quite a generous leash, if you will, when I was younger. I was well-disciplined enough for her to allow me to immerse myself in various hobbies and passions; as long as I abided by her few moral rules, she didn't have a problem with what I included in my life. I've often forgot how thankful I was for that.

"My mother has always kept me fairly grounded," Gohan shared humorously. "She's one of those mothers who strictly believe her way is what's best for her child, so she lets them do as they please but only if it ties back in some way to what she wants." Since it was his turn, I made myself comfortable, inclining back into the grass and propped on my elbows. "The biggest thing with my mother was that she didn't want me getting into martial arts like my father; she wanted me to grow up to be a well-civilized, brilliant person. Even once I hit puberty, she didn't want me going out on Full Moons or turning into my wolf skin unless the situation was absolutely dire. But I almost always snuck out anyways, just because I had that yearning to wander, to be free.

"I owe a lot of my passion for statistics and literary subjects to my mother, for she made sure my nose was buried in books at a very young age. I developed a taste for other things such as martial arts and other activities, but that didn't mean I had to change. Pretty soon, only I could really know what was best for me, academically and generally. It took a long time for my mother to realize this and entrust my destiny to myself." Gohan took in the quiet green sanctuary of my backyard and the woods beyond it, as if he was yearning to get lost in them.

"From what I've met of your mom, she's a real nice lady."

"Thank you. She is a good woman, and a good mother. Just iron-willed, is all."

From there, Gohan and I moved onto a more solemn conversation about Saiyan powers and control. He insisted he wasn't going to train me in martial arts or combat; as interesting as it sounded to me, he was adamant his only goal was to help me gain control of my Saiyan energy. In fact, in a surprising gesture, he offered to demonstrate what it was like when physical energy was outwardly dispersed.

Standing on his feet, and encouraging me to take a few steps back, it looked as though he did nothing but blink, and in a fleeting flash of light, I found him shrouded in white fire. Or at least that's what it appeared to be. It swooned around him like ocean tides, yet with the mass of burning flames.

"When you concentrate your physical energy outward, it takes the most basic form; an aura. In comparison to a spiritual aura, which is invisible to the naked eye, this type of aura is tangible in shape and structure."

"I think I've done this before—accidentally, that is—when I was little. I was rough-housing with my cousin and he tripped me into the wall; I got mad and next I know I'm surrounded by this light. I was scared at first but then my mom said it was something my dad used to do often as well and that it was nothing to be afraid of."

"It's true," Gohan confirmed. He held his arm out leisurely, the flame-like aura molding around him still. "Go ahead and touch it."

Slowly, I inched my raised hand closer to the aura until my fingertips penetrated through its air-thin wall. Out of reflex, my hand snapped back at the sensation I felt; the air was abnormally warm and with a rushing current of electricity to it. Taking a moment to ponder the familiarity of it, I realized it was the exact same sensation I'd experienced when Gohan and I shook hands my first day of school.

Through the open sliding door, I heard something shift inside the house, causing both Gohan and I to react. Lizzie was a beeline running back inside; shortly after, I heard a happy and affectionate "Hi, baby-girl!"

"Oh… My mother's home." Looking to Gohan, I found his aura gone. He glanced my way with raised brows, as if he wasn't sure if my mother being home was a good or bad thing. Obviously, he was waiting for my opinion on the matter. I wasn't counting on him meeting my mother on such abrupt notice, but I guess time flies when you're having fun.

The look on my mother's face when she walked out back and saw Gohan couldn't quite be recognized as a positive or negative reaction. "Who is this?" she asked in her taut, alarmed tone. It'd been a long while since I've had to think about Mom's age-old rule of not bringing anyone new in the house when she's not home.

"Mom, this is Gohan; Gohan, this is my mom, Debb."

The wary Gohan who was standing beside me just a few minutes ago had disappeared and in his place was the collected, proper counterpart. "Nice to officially meet you, Ms. Teague." I smirked in fond amusement. He was so proper.

"Same." Mom shot a quick glance at me, then back to Gohan. "I think I recognize you; I saw you talking with Jordane at the hospital after the hijacking...and you were the young man that helped us at Chan's Grocers."

I scratched my elbow, hoping the outdated news I was about to divulge wouldn't be insulting to Gohan, since I never really told my mother what actually happened at the bus scene. "Actually, Mom, Gohan is the reason I'm standing here. He was the one who pulled me off that bus before it blew up and became scrap metal."

"What? Jordane, how can you not tell me something like this?"

"You never asked," I retorted quietly.

"Well, with that bit of information," Mom began, turning her eyes to Gohan with more warmth than before, "I owe you a great deal of thanks for saving my daughter's life. My God, what am I doing, I should be offering you a reward, or—"

"Your thanks is just fine," Gohan insisted in that warm, humble glow of his.

"Gohan's parents are the ones that own that Friesian stallion I told you about, Mom. Oh, and he also happens to be like me—a werewolf and Saiyan hybrid, that is." Watching the shock come over my mother's face when I uttered the word Saiyan was rather amusing. Somehow, it already felt like ages when I was reacting just like that; now, the idea of knowing other Saiyans are amongst me was no longer such a shock.

The three of us stood there for probably fifteen minutes exchanging small-talk; well, it actually felt more like twenty questions, really. When Gohan brought up our little dinner-date, I had to bite down on my tongue to keep myself from shrieking in terror. From there, Mom went from being a curious mother to an avid interrogator.

Gohan quickly shifted to a good note when he inquired to my mother if she was fine with the idea of him taking me out to dinner. To my complete disbelief, my mother—the woman who always told me she didn't want me to participate in anything even slightly resembling dating until I was eighteen—expressed she didn't see any harm in it.

"Um, Gohan, didn't you say you had to be home by six for dinner?" Thank God he was fast to catch on; he never actually mentioned any curfew to me, but he caught my taut remark as a desperate attempt to end my mother's interrogation. There was a glint in his eyes, as if he was thanking me for offering him an escape.

So, after exchanging proper "Goodbye"s and "See you at school" remarks, Gohan headed for home while I was stuck with the aftermath of the ambush meeting.

"He's a nice young man," Mom said in a pleasant tone as she prepped the kitchen. "Not often you find a handsome boy like that who is just as pleasant and charismatic in personality. I'm not too sure how I feel about you going out with him, though…"

Rolling my eyes, I resisted the overwhelming urge to slam the refrigerator door out of embarrassment. "Mom, we're not 'going out'. It's just a casual dinner. I'm thinking of joining his pack, but before he lets me do that he wants to get to know me more. That's it!"

"You're going to be part of a pack, huh?" My family was all the pack I ever had—and all I'd ever been raised to need. At this point in my life, though, I needed to belong to something more—to have a second family, the way Gohan had his.

"Yes, I am, and I want to."

"With how defiant you are towards people telling you what to do, that's very surprising; you sure you'll be able to handle not being your own boss?"

It was hard to discern if she meant this the simple way it sounded or if there was an overprotective, underlying plan of excuse to get me to reconsider.

"I don't think so, not anymore. I respect Gohan, I won't mind being under his rank." I couldn't believe those words actually came from my mouth.

"Whatever you say," she hummed, using that irritating, mocking tone that made me want to claw the countertops.

* * *

><p><em>What am I doing, what am I doing, what the hell am I doing?<em> Before I realized it, I had cleared my entire closet of every garment and strip of clothing that was hanging up or neatly folded in drawers. Pausing for a moment, a dreadful comprehension hit me. _Have I seriously been tearing my closet apart the past half-hour trying to find something to wear—for a boy?! _Huffing, I threw down one of the many tunics I was considering back onto the floor.

Dammit, girl, get a grip! I didn't know how to dress for such an occasion; it wasn't a date, but I still didn't know how formal or non-formal this little get-together was going to be. Taking a deep breath, my eyes browsed over the messy pile of various clothes until an ensemble finally came to mind. My hands immediately reached for a white button-up blouse. Next, I found my worn denim skirt—one of the only skirts I owned—and a pair of thick black tights, which were also the only pair of such clothing I possessed.

Throwing the garments on and taking a quick glance in the mirror, I was satisfied. The blouse was proper and clean enough to look casual, yet the faded black denim of my knee-length skirt and tattered tights gave enough flair so I wouldn't look like I was heading to a job interview. My handy biker boots added to the flavor as well.

After giving my hair a quick swipe with my brush, thoroughly brushing my teeth, and deciding to skip the eye-liner, the only task left was to clean the unnecessary mess I'd created of my clothes. I didn't have the time to sort and fold each one, so I simply grabbed piles by the armful and tossed them back in my deep closet. I would get to them later; I just didn't need my mother waltzing in and witnessing evidence of my lapse in tomboyishness.

The doorbell rang just as I closed the doors to my closet. I froze, my eyes darting to my thick-banded watch. It was only six-fifteen, he couldn't be here already! Holding my breath, I flew out of my room, down the stairs and was literally in a race with my mother the last twenty feet from the kitchen to the door. Of course, I won, but she was adamant I let Gohan in so they can chat.

I had to open the door sooner or later; closing my eyes in defeat, I turned the knob and found Gohan on the other side of the door clad in a deep navy blue long-sleeve shirt with clean-cut, properly fitted black jeans. Just as I had done a quick take on him, he did just as swift of an observation of me, smiling once he met my eyes. I couldn't deny he looked ridiculously handsome, especially with the way the beams and shadows from the porch light played and complimented his facial features.

I only allowed Mom enough time to lay down the curfew before I snatched Gohan along by his sleeve and pulled him along out to the driveway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: We all know when we let a new person into our bedroom, the friendship just entered a whole new level right there hehee x3 **

**Oh, and I want to thank lilkitty for their review, and giving me something to think about… I appreciate your input; the romance is supposed to be drawn out in this story, friendship comes first and then the foundation for romance is built later on. However, on that note, you did give me a lot to think about in regards to the pacing of this story! :) One of my bad habits as a writer is to make my stories too drawn out and with too much filler. So I went back through my brainstorm notes and made some adjustments, cutting out unnecessary filler and scenes—but nothing major, for those who like where the story is going now/don't mind the filler. So, again, thank you! **

**- J**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	22. 21: Open Book

**21. Open Book**

**_Gohan_**

Arriving at a little Italian restaurant just outside the city's smaller venue, I couldn't help but notice Jordane's ongoing tenseness. It wasn't until I opened the door for her did I realize she had her hands stuffed in her skirt pockets, just as I had my fists anxiously hidden in my own pockets. We were both so stiff and awkward; then again, we were out of our comfort zones.

I spoke to our host clearly enough to get us a seat in the back of the restaurant where it was more secluded from the bustling parties of five and eight diners. Browsing through the menu, I looked up from the text in front of me to observe Jordane's behavior, and found her arms hanging low at her sides, her lip curled inward with the tip of her tooth visible. I blinked, so easily flustered by the innocent expression.

The table-space around us remained wordless until our waiter arrived, who took our orders accurately and left.

"So…How do we start this thing?" Jordane asked with a snicker. The tension was released as soon as she smiled; I quickly glanced away, masking my wonderment with a grin.

"How about we take turns asking questions about one another; seems reasonable to me." I earned her cooperation with a willing nod, and I was pleased to find her posture more sturdy rather than rigid as it had been before; her arms remained by her waist, instead of folded against herself.

I went first, starting with the smaller things I hadn't quite been able to touch on in our time together so far. Might as well start with a simple one. "What are your favorite genres of movies?"

"Fantasy, action, and Disney. You can never go wrong with Disney. You?"

"Sci-fi and action, mostly. A dose of horror every now and then is good for the soul, too." It was amazing how much brighter the room seemed to become when she smiled. From when I saw her in school, it was so rare to see her smile; it was a crime she didn't do it more often.

"When is your birthday?"

"January twenty-first."

My eyebrows shot straight up at this. I chuckled. "You're a day younger than me," I said. "I was born on the twentieth."

"Same year?"

I nodded.

"Well, I guess everyone is born one day apart somewhere, right?"

Our appetizers arrived; refreshing seasoned salads with mouthwatering, delicate breadsticks. It was rather difficult for both Jordane and I to focus on talking when we were inhaling our food.

"What is your favorite kind of food?" Such an appropriate question. Swallowing the bite of vegetation in my mouth, I gave some serious thought to the answer.

"That's a hard one," I confessed with a snicker. "I'll have to say anything my mom makes is my favorite food." I repeated the question, and her answer was Italian. _I suppose I did a good job in picking the restaurant, then._

From there, more random questions rang out and I continued to hear interesting facts about my new friend. She was the lead singer in a small band with her friends; she had braces when she was thirteen; she loved to travel and used to do so frequently when she was younger; every summer she used to go out on a ranch with a friend and helped with starting mustangs.

In return, I also put random facts about myself out onto the table; I'd travelled across the galaxy and explored other planets; my grandfather from my mother's side was a king long ago, and my mother, a princess in her own right.

"You're kidding!" Jordane exclaimed in surprise. "So…you're actually a prince of sorts?" I could tell she wanted to laugh at the idea.

"Sort of," I snickered, scratching my eyebrow. "My grandfather has long since retired the title of king. And it wasn't as if my father was of any royal blood, so. You can go ahead and laugh," I told her.

"No," she giggled, clearing her throat. "I'm not laughing at you—"

"I know," I assured her, smiling.

Since we touched on the subject, the next array of questions was in regards to family. I asked Jordane how large her family was; since her grandmother remarried, she had more step-cousins, aunts, and uncles than she could count. I found it utterly interesting and endearing her step-grandfather was human and happily lived his life knowing he married into a werewolf family.

"He's like the father I never had, really. Well, he and both my uncles all are father-figures to me, but my grandfather was the one male I spent the most time with out of all of them in my life. That's something I really miss back at home, now that I think about it. He's such an easy person to be around; he's calming, really. Something we did everyday up 'til I got my driver's license was go to the bookstore after school and stay there for hours browsing and reading books—rain or shine." Even a deaf man who couldn't catch the melancholy yearning in Jordane's voice would still be able to witness it in her eyes. She went on to tell me about her closest cousins; from her brotherly cousin Paul to her mischievous cousin David, her family was without a doubt full of colorful characters.

"It's just you, your mom, dad, brother, and cousin, right?"

"And my grandfather on my mother's side, yes. We're a small family."

"Nothing wrong with that," Jordane amended quietly. "Sometimes I wish my family was a little smaller—at least, in the area of extended family. There are so many cousins I don't even remember and aunts and uncles who haven't seen me since I was a toddler and yet their names or faces don't ring a bell in my memory."

"Well, I think you'd get along with everyone in my family without a problem. Everyone except for my cousin, that is."

"You're not close, I'm assuming?"

"The opposite of close," I scoffed, taking a drink of soda. "Long story short, my uncle Raditz hooked up with one of the only Saiyan women who survived the destruction of our people's home planet; she was in league with a posse led by another Saiyan named Turles. My dad was forced to kill Raditz due to his unhealthy obsession with genocide, then a couple years later, Turles and his group invaded the Earth. We killed him off—including my cousin's mother—but when we learned he was of our blood, and a child no less, my dad decided to grant him clemency." I shrugged. "But at the age of thirteen, he was too corrupted, and we couldn't change him to a decent person. Just as long as he doesn't hurt anybody or cause any mayhem he can live on this planet."

"He behaves that well?"

I smirked. "My dad was a Super Saiyan when he killed Turles; Sid, my cousin has been wise enough to remember how easily we can take someone down and he hasn't pushed his luck. I hope you never meet him; he truly is a low bastard I don't think you'd get along with."

"I'll take your word for it," she assured me.

After replenishing bread and drinks at our table, our waiter promised our entrees on his third and final trip around. "Gohan?" Jordane's voice was delicate but not necessarily shy. I responded with a light hum and raised brows. "Exactly how many battles have you fought in saving the world?"

I couldn't deny her these answers anymore. Allowing myself to be an open book was against all instinct, but right here, with Jordane, I felt no reason to be defensive anymore. "From the time I was four years old, I've been in eight battles in a twelve-year period."

She blinked numerous times, silent, before finally speaking. "So, you'd only have not even two years of peace in between each fight?"

"It's varied. Often, the peace lasted a few months, while others lasted longer. The longest break we've had was probably three years, but even that was spent training and preparing for the worst. After the Cell Games, it was two years before I found myself standing in front of another enemy, and that was three years ago." Doing the math aloud, I realized just how meticulous it all sounded. Those memories have long been locked away; to take a look back at the pattern of my busy life was the equivalent of cleaning your room and finding an old trinket you hadn't seen years.

"What's it like?"

This careful question left me wordless for quite a few moments. When I finally found a point to start from, I unlatched all the doors I'd kept so tightly shut for so long. "Well, when you're a child, it's nearly impossible to comprehend the evil it takes to slaughter millions of people; the question is even more pressing when amongst the victims are some of your closest friends. Blood and carnage was everywhere I looked; there were times I wanted to run, but a tiny voice in the back of my mind told me to stand my ground for the sake of honor. It was completely different whenever I found myself staring down my opponent, and it was my hand to play. Once in a miraculous blue moon, I would actually succeed in landing a punch or an attack that would be the turning point for the fight, but..." I shrugged, glancing at the window, but not necessarily looking at the night scenery outside. "It's strange how I was literally picked up by my father's arch-nemesis and forced to learn how to survive and how to fight, how I was forced to leave all that was safe behind for the sake of the planet regardless of whether I wanted to or not…and yet it's the life I can't see myself not living. The adventure, adrenaline, and reward for helping people live another day just became too much a part of who I am to give up."

Redirecting my eyes to Jordane, she was already staring me down intently with a sense of wonder and sentiment. She sighed and in a blink her rich eyes had looked away from me. "Coming from a military family, it's always fascinated me how simple men can muster up the courage to see the world at its most violent and ruthless. But to be just a kid and have to work up that kind of courage and bravery…"

I smiled poignantly. "It's a hard life. Don't get me wrong, it has its rewards, but…"

"When I think about it, I guess it's no surprise to me that you try to avoid letting people get close to you," Jordane reflected thoughtfully. "It's like comic book superheroes… There's always danger for those close to them, no matter how hard they try and separate their alter egos with their real lives."

"It's exactly like that. There are consequences in getting involved with the wrong people."

"And for me, you consider yourself to be one of those 'wrong people'." Staring me down, Jordane was utterly calm and sharp, not quite as somberly dazed as she was a minute ago.

"Yes," I confessed grimly.

"Then why are you sitting here with me?"

I tried to utter a laugh at her provocative inquiry, but I couldn't muster the effort to do so. Instead, I focused all my energy on creating an efficient answer. "Because, if I were to turn the other way and leave you alone now, you will lose what little control you have and hurt someone within the week. Someone needs to help you control your powers, and I'm the only one who can, unfortunately. And I say that for your sake. Trust me, if there was anyone else who could teach you these things, I'd hand you over to them, instead of opening a dangerous door by teaching you myself."

"Well, you really don't need to protect me. I'm not completely undamaged by unfortunate circumstances." Those eyes left mine once again and this time stared down at the fine grain of the table she rested her arms on. I went from nostalgic to solemn, folding my hands and resting my chin on them as I gazed at Jordane's dismal expression.

"How did you get into fighting?" I asked quietly.

"When I was little, I was so shy and anti-social that my mom and grandma tried putting me in all sorts of after-school programs; you know, sports, activities, those sort of things… They enrolled me in karate classes on a whim and that was the only activity I stuck with, next to 4-H. I graduated the class with a yellow belt. But I didn't get into serious combat fighting until my cousin Paul taught me when I was thirteen."

For her, I knew it couldn't have been just her Saiyan influence that made her go forward with martial arts; there had to be something personal involved.

My voice lowered to a somber mumble, "Was it just on a whim? Or did something motivate you to keep building your fighting skills?"

From my eyes, Jordane's glanced down at the table. "I guess you can say there was motivation…" Bitterness seeped into her honest voice; whether she wanted me to catch it or not, it didn't go unnoticed by my ears. I didn't have to harass her for the answer; we were already aware enough of each other to receive hints from mere facial expressions or lack of speech.

"I've never dated, but I had my own sort of guy problems back in Washington, particularly with one small group of wolf-boys; guys who loved to taunt me for hanging out with humans, they liked to fight me and try to toss me around, out of sake for their egos. It irked them that a little she-wolf who hung out with humans could match their stride when it came to the strength department. I had to learn how to fight on a more serious, aggressive level if I was to survive getting jumped. All these boys needed to do was do or say something to piss me off, and I'd meet them in the woods near my house and beat the crap out of them until I couldn't stand up.

"Even though I won a great deal of the time, I still went home with nasty wounds every now and then. Of course, it was impossible to hide it from my mother forever, so eventually she found out and banned me from training or fighting." Shrugging, Jordane scoffed cynically. "I continued to do it anyways; to keep the bastards in place, or blow off some steam… And since it was very easy for people over there to piss me off, it was a near-daily routine to fight in one form or another."

To come across as chastising or skeptical was the last thing I wanted to interpret, so dropping my voice low, I exhaled, "That's a lot of violence to have in your life." I may have endured some unspeakable horrors, but I tried to keep violence at bay as much as I could in day-to-day life, regardless of how much the Saiyan blood in my veins hankered for combat.

Jordane's delicate lips quirked at the corners in a melancholy smirk. "The way I see it, fighting in a duel against someone is the only manner of control I have over my life; I can control the outcome of each fight. Often that was the only way I was able to keep myself from blowing up the school or causing other such mayhem, which was to fight and beat the crap out of other werewolves who were the roots of the problem themselves, more or less. I will have to admit, a great deal of the time, regardless of whether they deserve it or not, beating someone up doesn't help much." The smirk disappeared into a sad scowl. "It doesn't help when your friends are in pain or distress because they have an emotionally abusive parent, are depressed, are being bullied, or were sexually harassed or molested by a family member… Beating up your regular punching bag doesn't bring much change or relief to the situation.

"Growing up, I never kept the few friends I earned because I was always moving or they were; this group of friends I have in Washington are the longest friends I've kept. Even when they learned what I was, they still saw me as the coolest, most bad-ass person they knew and accepted me for who I was. I care for them so much; I hate seeing any of them in pain. But there's nothing I can do for them when it comes to human complications in their personal lives." Her voice grew brash with passionate remorse, "I can't go to their houses and beat their parent within an inch of their life thinking that'll teach them not to bully their kid; I don't always have the right words to say to lift their spirits up when they think their life shit; I can't always be there to watch them twenty-four-seven to make sure they don't pick up a knife and start cutting themselves. It all just keeps building and piling up until I just can't handle it anymore and then I just…explode."

My heart caught when the dim light of the lantern above our table captured the shimmer of a tear in Jordane's eyes. Her mouth was taut. I froze, completely caught off-guard.

"I just want to be there for them so bad and try to be half of the friend to them that they've all been to me; but even if I am a supernatural freak with super powers, I can't do a damn thing." Her hand quickly went up to her face and whisked away the tears collecting in her eyes before they could break. A small voice inside of me screamed in anguish for her; I didn't want her to hide anything from me, and yet to see her buoyant face contorted in pain felt so wrong.

Ever since she first arrived here, I'd been trying to act like this girl's existence was irrelevant to me; that she was nothing special to merit my attention or compassion. Curiosity was the excuse I'd used for my acknowledgment of her; curiosity was deficient now. She shifted my world as easily as if I were a measly life buoy in a hurricane's tide.

Unfolding my hands, I let my right hand glide across the table, stopping just inches away from Jordane's petite fist. My fingers reached for her, aching to touch her, to console her. The memory of what it was like to feel her skin when I shook her hand or when I held her close to me the day of the bus hijacking was almost enough incentive to close that last inch between our hands.

Almost.

"There's nothing wrong with doing what you can to help your friends; but it doesn't do them or you any good if you let your efforts break you." I was desperate now; from all I've seen of her emotional struggles in the short time I've known her, it was so unfair for her to be so burdened with responsibilities she couldn't handle—responsibilities that were just too much. "To care for your friends is a noble thing, but there are some things you just can't change, even with superior strength and abilities. Trust me, I know nothing is harder than to even think, let alone accept, the fact that you can't always save your loved ones from everything."

She looked at me with sad, begging eyes that tore at my conscience. "You can't save everyone." The irony; I was telling her what I told myself every single waking day.

"You know what it's like to still want to anyways."

"I do."

For some reason, a weak smile came to her face. "It's different, to find myself on the other side of these talks," she said. Her eyes shifted from my returning smile to the table, where my hand still remained an inch from hers. Our eyes met in a snapping instance of shyness and out of instinct I relinquished my hand. We were both quiet, with nothing but the low tune of music and humming of chatter filling the restaurant's walls.

"Jordane." When those brown eyes had returned to my view, I delicately formed the words in my mouth. "When I took you in, my only intention was to help you not be a victim of your own powers—for the sake of others as well as yourself. Even when I succeed, I don't think I can be content with myself if I didn't help you in other such ways." My throat suddenly felt dry, but I was too intent to care. "From this point on, I promise, you don't have to be alone anymore."

If our waiter hadn't show up with our dinner, I don't know how long Jordane and I would have continued to sit there gawking at one another without saying a word. Surprisingly, I wasn't as relieved as I thought I would be to have been distracted from such a staring contest.

Jordane contentedly occupied herself with her herb and cheese pasta while I enjoyed my steak and tortellini dish. The greatest aspect of this restaurant was you could put another order in for a second helping of food—at no extra cost. Halfway through our dinner, Jordane and I made up our minds a second helping was indeed due before the night was over.

As we finished up the scraps from our first plates while waiting for our second round to be prepared, words had returned within reach for further conversation.

"This is kind of random," Jordane began modestly, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "It's never been clear to me as to why you stretched your neck out for me in the first place, when you could have just as easily forgotten me and went on with your day-to-day life…"

Finally cracking a smile, I washed down my last bite of food with a gulp of soda before responding. "What made me veer away from my normal routines to socialize and look out for you, is simply because…" _Just say it._ "…You fascinated me. Aside from being the only Saiyan hybrid I've met, you genuinely perplexed and fascinated me." I paused to find more words, though I should have stopped there. "You seemed like a nice, easy-going person, in spite of the masks you harbored. And yet, under all that, I guess I just sensed something deeper going on. A struggle, kind of."

My words affected her differently than I thought they would. Instead of flattering her, she appeared amazed, as if I confirmed a long-held, heavily guarded secret of hers. I held that silence, to offer her a chance to bring her own input, but as she remained quiet, it was evident she had no words to say. At least, not yet.

Our second round of entrees was served; before the sentimental nature of our conversation completely drowned us, I shifted towards a new subject. "What do you want from me, Jordane? What do you want to have accomplished when I'm done training you?"

Jordane's chewing slowed down, and she glanced away from her plate to ponder silently. "Now that I've had time to think about it, I just want to be strong; truly, securely strong, and not just in my ability to land a crushing punch."

"Good, that's a reasonable goal. Just so we're clear, though, I'm not going to train you to become anything like me." My tone became stern, for I meant it.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," Jordane objected lightly, as if she did so just for the sake of sharing her thoughts. "I'd love to have just an inkling of the strength and abilities you have."

"I _do_ mind," I argued softly, staring at her with a frown.

"So if I ever decided I wanted to join your little band of fighters, you wouldn't be willing to train me?"

"That's right. I'm not going to hand you the ammunition you need to throw your life away and recruit you into such a world. Besides, it isn't meant for everyone; you don't just suddenly decide you want to embrace such a living on a whim." Inside, I wanted to curtly end the conversation. I didn't want her pondering on about the idea of becoming a warrior like me—to see the things I've seen, to carry the burdens that I did… "I've never been envious of another for having a different life from mine, but Jordane, you have no idea how fortunate you are, that your life isn't wrought with the peril and warfare that comes with our race's lifestyle."

Jordane scowled now, scoffing. "So, am I supposed to be proud of the mundane life I have? Proud that I've had not an inkling of knowledge in regards to my heritage or of what I'm capable of?"

I had to watch the loudness of my voice. "You don't have to be proud of it; there are other things you can do in this world—good things—that don't involve going toe-to-toe in a fist match against super-powered aliens. I believe you're meant for good things, Jordane. You have passion and drive for animals and the artful aspects of life; you're not going to be able to bask in it if you're too busy risking your life."

"Neither can I bask in it if some alien comes strolling in and decides to trash the very world I want to make my living in. Gohan, you get to make that huge difference; it's because of you this planet and its people are even alive right now—how you and I are able to sit at this table. You speak of the triumphs you have and the secret life you lead as if they're nothing but horrible things, when really you're more powerful than any world leader, with both your strength and your words. You have the power to affect indefinite change in this world, and you're only sixteen! Do you have any idea how many kids our age dream of having just a hint of that influence and power to make any sort of change in their own lives—let alone the world?"

My humble mind had never kept me from coming to any conclusions or sense of pride in what I do, but I had to admit I never thought of it quite in the way Jordane described. But she wouldn't win this quarrel; neither of us would. This realization must have been silently shared with her as well, for she didn't press on with it. I knew she was a persistent girl, but I was catching glimpse of a different side of her; a disposition which was calculated enough to know when to rest and discontinue.

Through the rest of our dinner, Jordane went on to tell me more of her life in Washington; she described each of her human friends in fond detail of their personalities and how they've influenced her; she told me one of her favorite things to do on the weekends was go to her uncle's house and work on old cars with him and her cousin; she shared a struggle she'd taken part in for two neglected horses owned by ignorant backyard horse owners. She had her own yearning to save others, to be a hero in her own right when it mattered to her.

The more she told her stories, the less damaged she appeared from our previous conversations. She was the type of person where it didn't take much to please her; there were small positive aspects of her life in Washington, but the way I saw it, the relief they brought her had diminished to such a miniscule and temporary potency it couldn't alleviate all the negatives.

Having saved enough room for dessert, I ordered my usual peppermint chocolate cake; Jordane had indulged herself in a devil's food chocolate cake. The expression that came over her face when she took the first bite of the succulent pastry made the night for me. She looked as if she had taken a bite of heaven.

After going back and forth, I finally allowed her to get the tip. "This isn't a formal date, correct? Then you can at least let me pay the tip," she debated playfully, slapping eight dollars on the table. I accepted the gesture and walked out of the restaurant with her with a full stomach, and pleased conscience.

Even after we'd gotten settled in the car, I didn't start the engine; Jordane didn't object to just sitting there in the emptying parking lot. It appeared neither of us really wanted to go home and call it a night just yet.

"Thank you," she expressed softly, shifting in the seat until her body was facing me. I took to a similar position. "You really are an easy person to talk to, you know."

I smiled. "I try to be. And I could say the same about you; you're a pretty good listener yourself. In fact, I thank you."

"What for?"

"I guess you're not alone in being proud enough to have a strong distaste for others' pity. When I shared little stories of my past, you didn't get the morbidly sorrowful, repentant frown others have expressed after learning of my…unique upbringing. It may not seem like such a reaction could affect me, but it does. I don't want others feeling pity for me, neither do I want them to try and put themselves in a situation to where they can feel like they understand how I feel."

I cursed mutely at the simple, innocent way Jordane let her head tilt against the headrest. "It's something I couldn't imagine going through so young," she began, shifting her eyes downward. "I think it's just disconcerting for anyone to think of a child being a soldier. I may not have outwardly shown it, but I am sadly awestruck at the things you had to endure when you were so young. I want to feel sorry for you, but if you don't want me to, then I won't."

"You can feel whatever you want to feel," I told her, pausing to find the correct words. "I just don't want you to treat me differently because of my past. I don't want you to wish you could have changed it somehow. I'm just tired of the 'Oh you poor thing' and 'You didn't deserve it' treatment. It may not have been the safest or most idyllic of upbringings, but it's made me who I am… There's no one else I want to be other than myself, even if I have to endure hell on earth every now and then."

For countless minutes, I stared into Jordane's warm eyes; shadows and lights danced in their breadth, illuminating faint hues of red-brown and even faint hazel. Finally, she smiled, so slightly. "What's with the smile?" I asked teasingly.

"You talk with a wisdom that is absolutely unheard of for kids our age…at least, to my ears."

Grinning, I uttered a breathy laugh. "An old friend once told me, there's not any wisdom worth having that isn't earned through a fair share of hardships."

"Well put."

Although she's been here for nearly a month, and I've only just truly met her last week, I felt like I could sit there in that car with her for the entire night and do nothing except talk—talk about each other, our dreams, our secrets...

Then I looked down at my watch. It was nearly eight o' clock; Jordane's mother wanted her home before the end of the hour. "I should get you home," I sighed, finally turning the key in the ignition. The drive back to her house was quiet, save for the CD I played. Amongst the singer's voice, I picked up Jordane's own crooning.

"_So crawl inside my head with me, I'll show you how it feels to be; to blame like me. Should I be afraid of this face that I see, in the mirror staring back at me?_"

When I could afford it, I glanced over at her with a smile at how she was able to sing along to a Staind song, when barely a week ago she'd never heard of the band before.

She tittered quietly, scratching her arm. "I've bought a few of their CDs since the last time I was in your car." I only grinned and continued driving. Traffic wasn't too brutal, so we managed to make it to Jordane's house twenty minutes after eight. The miniscule tardiness shouldn't get us in too much trouble.

"Goodnight, and thanks again, really."

"It was my pleasure. Goodnight, I'll see you at school." With an exchange of smiles, Jordane left my car and strolled leisurely up to her front porch, turning back to wave goodbye before walking through the threshold.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally got this chapter out of the way! I hope I wrote it well enough; this is the real building point for Gohan and Jordane's friendship/bond, and I wanted to write it honestly, without any clichés or corniness…I'm not sure I succeeded, but I feel it's definitely better than the scene in the original draft. **

**I wanted to establish mutual respect between Gohan and Jordane—especially Jordane with Gohan's past. She does feel sympathy for the hard stuff he had to go through, but she doesn't focus only on that; she looks past all that and sees the resolute person he is as a product of all the hardship. So yeah, hope I was able to convey that ^-^ **

**Some more random clear-up notes here… Originally, Gohan's cousin, Sid, was also half werewolf, half Saiyan; when reconstructing this fic, I decided there was no way Raditz would *ahem* procreate with another being other than a Saiyan, so I decided to give the Saiyan race one more survivor (female, of course) that Raditz hooked up with one night and bada-bing-bada-boom, but she remained with Turles and his gang (I know the Tree of Might was a movie and not canon but hey). **

**Also, I know that in the canon/manga/anime, Gohan's birthday isn't in January, but it's a little tweak I've had in my DBZ universe ever since I was little, so… :P Just wanted to clear that up. **

**- J**

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	23. 22: Welcome to the Alphas

**22. Welcome To The Alphas**

**_Jordane_**

I was glad to return to the stables that following Monday. It was a bit of a crowded mess, however; construction crews worked on building a new stallion barn and in the meantime, the stallions occupied the general stables, while leaving the other horses in portable stalls in the stable-yard. This proved to be rather convenient, for I could work outside in the cool spring air and watch Gohan do ground-work with Lightning. To others, the scene would have appeared to be just a boy lunging his horse, but it was so much more than that; slight implications and gestures on Gohan's part were instantly picked up by Lightning's keen senses, and he would do as asked, all without verbal cues or loud direction.

My pleasant observations of my hybrid friend and his horse were soon cut abruptly short. "Hey, Jordane!"

"Kyle," I greeted, managing to tweak my voice just enough to sound borderline congenial. My enthusiasm sank when I saw his tennis buddies, Channing and Dane, at his side. Channing was a shallow ingrate, while Dane was more an obnoxious push-over. I couldn't possibly understand how Kendra could stand to be around so many idiotic people.

"You busy working?"

"I'm actually on my break now." _Dammit. _Why did I have to be so damn honest sometimes?

"Oh really? Well, how about you come with us on some rides to kill the time?" Kyle was hopelessly insistent as ever. Thankfully, Dane distracted Kyle from receiving an answer.

"Is that Son over there?" Disbelief and contempt were thick in Dane's wimpy voice.

"Oh yeah," Kyle mumbled unenthusiastically. Then his eyes returned to me. "Were you…watching him?" he asked reproachfully.

I saw a very unique opportunity to take care of my little hitch with Kyle Davis; I just hoped Gohan wouldn't mind being part of my plan.

"Yes, actually I was. I mean, just look at him and the way he and his horse are communicating. No pressure on the lead, discreet body language and gestures… I haven't seen many horsemen like him. I don't know about other girls, but for me, seeing a guy interact with an animal on such a comfortable, deep level of understanding is just…hot." I made sure to utter a breathy sigh of fervent admiration at the last word. Even from the distance, I could see and feel Gohan's eyes lock on me; he heard what I said, and I couldn't help but blush. He cocked his brow in a perplexed scrutiny for only a brief instant; when I saw his modestly amused smirk, I knew he comprehended just what I was doing.

"Kyle, dude, come on, let's go range shooting," Channing ushered, already walking back to the gate of the stable-yards with Dane, and leaving Kyle flustered.

"I, uh, guess I'll see you at school," he murmured in a disheartened groan, turning on his heel and making for the exit like a miserable little boy who didn't get that new toy he wanted on Christmas morning. The sight was oh so sweet to my eyes.

"Had yourself a little fun, did you?" Gohan asked when I walked up to him.

"Oh yes," I sighed devilishly. "I'm sorry I had to put you on the spot like that, but I couldn't think of anything else to get him off my back."

"Don't worry about it. Seeing the look on Davis' face was well worth it." To my delight, he brought Lightning over to me so I could touch and pet him. He looked beautiful as ever and was completely unfazed in being back at the stable-yard, where he had a very close brush with death just weeks ago.

"What is Kyle's deal, anyways? I mean why is he so clingy?"

Gohan's pleasant demeanor changed at my query; he glanced somberly at Kyle's long-gone direction. "It really isn't my place to put his personal life out there, even if I don't like him… But to summarize, his birth mother was a druggie who lost custody of him; he got adopted by the parents he has now and to make up for the dreary childhood he had, they've pretty much spoiled him as their way of showing him how loved he is. He's just used to getting what he wants, I guess."

"The pieces seem to fit," I agreed, continuing to stroke Lightning's face fondly, and I didn't stop until my break was over.

* * *

><p>There was a strange, blissful sense of independence you get when walking down the empty hallways of the school when everyone else was in class. It was even better with the teacher's permission to be out and about in the halls in running an errand for them; I wished I could sit in the desolate halls for the remainder of the period.<p>

To the task at hand; I had to deliver paperwork to the office for Mr. Nikle, and I took my sweet time in doing so, enjoying the quiet emptiness of the school.

Opening the door to the back entry of the office, I froze in my tracks when I saw a very familiar figure already at the desk. "Thanks, hun, you have a good day now," the receptionist said to Gohan, just before he turned around and met my eyes.

"Can I help you, dear?" the middle-aged woman asked me.

"Yeah, I'm just dropping this off for Mr. Nikle."

"Very good. Thank you, my dear."

"Running teacher's errands?" Gohan was smiling at me, the gesture adding on to my already pleasant mood.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I was turning in my absence slip, for next month."

His words sent a jolt to my already fluttered heart. "You're leaving?" I peeped.

"Next week. The World's Martial Arts Tournament is next month; I have to take a few weeks off to train."

I swallowed harshly. To hopelessly try and hide my disappointment, I diverted Gohan's attention with a question. "You need a few weeks to train for a tournament? Who could possibly pose a threat to you?"

Grinning, Gohan began to walk idly for the door, and I followed him just as casually. "Well, my father and fellow Z-fighters are competing also; everybody else, I don't need to worry about. The training is more to just sharpen the skills that may have grown rusty over time. Plus, it's an excuse to play hooky from school for a month."

There must have been a fault in my smile; once out in the hall, Gohan stopped in front of me, eyes bearing down on me curiously. "What's the matter?"

For quite a few seconds, my mouth couldn't form words, for I was unsure of just how to respond. _There's no need to be so defensive anymore, _I reminded myself. _Just be honest with him. _"It's just…going to be strange, not having you around," I admitted timidly. I didn't want him to leave, not when we just finally gotten used to each other. The thought of him being gone for a month or more was absolutely dreadful.

"We can still keep in touch," he amended hearteningly. I forced myself to take this as an adequate comfort and drop the subject. "Hey, the pack I are going to hang out at the mall after school today. Would you like to come with?"

"Yes." I didn't even have to put any consideration into the decision. Spending some time with my new pack sounded pleasant. Furthermore, it gave me another excuse and chance to be around Gohan before he left.

As soon as the bell rang at the end of the day, I met up with Gohan and his pack—my new pack—and headed over to the mall. Unlike my previous trip with Kendra and Lacey's gang, Renea and the girls made me feel comfortable, even when shopping for clothes. Thankfully, they all had a similar taste as I did in one way or another, so it wasn't too difficult to get along and have a decent time.

In fact, I felt so comfortable and almost invigorated, that I branched out and tried new wardrobe ideas, with the encouragement of Renea and Jasmine—or Jazz—who were the fashionistas of the group. Loose, folding tunics, sleeveless mini-dresses coming down to mid-thigh you could wear with shorts or jeans; various types of hats, which I didn't wear often, save for the occasional baseball cap. Of course, they did suggest a garment or two I absolutely refused to try on, but other than that, I must say it had to be one of the most enjoyable shopping trips—for clothes—that I've ever been a part of.

We met the boys at the mall's arcade; it was a gamer's paradise. I instantly gravitated toward the car-racing consoles, going up against the burly and obnoxious Elliot. He was a fun person to play against. Whenever I out-raced him, he'd get the funniest, most shocked expression on his face, trying with all his might not to swear.

"Well-played," he praised me after our feud was over, offering a friendly handshake. To assure me he wasn't upset, he winked at me and smirked. Everyone else had their turns playing against one another on various different games, and with each one, I found myself blending with the group and making myself more at home. I cheered, laughed, and bantered along with them; I got nudged, hugged, and leaned on by my new pack members. I never would have thought within mere days, I would have found someplace I could truly fit in.

Apparently, Gohan could only take so much of this fun all in one hit. "I'll meet up with you guys later. I'm going to head over to the bookstore."

Before I allowed a second more to pass between breaths, I blurted, "Mind if I come?"

"Sure." Gohan didn't smile at me until we had our backs to the rest of the group. It was becoming irrefutably obvious he enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed his.

It was a short walk to the bookstore, which was far more of an expansion than the in-mall bookstores I was used to. This was good; I was in the market for a couple new books, anyhow.

Truly, Gohan was a sci-fi fan; as soon as we crossed the threshold of the store, he veered straight for the science and fantasy section. Fantasy was in my neck of the woods as well, so I eventually joined him, but not after taking a browsing round throughout the store to see what other titles and genres they carried. Along my endeavor, I came across a long magazine shelf; one cover in particular caught my eye: a martial arts magazine. Curious, I picked it up and sifted through its thin pages, to come across a name and face that was familiar to me.

A picture archive of Gohan, from up to the beginning of this year to further back, when he looked a bit more petite; probably fourteen or fifteen years old? His hair was the same shaggy 'do, his clothes more casual and reserved from his leather jacket and jeans and hard boots. Unlike pictures of other martial artists on the pages opposite of him, the photos of Gohan looked like those that paparazzi take of celebrities when out on a walk and they pretend to be oblivious and not pay any attention to the snoopers.

I read the text beneath the pictures:

_Son Gohan, age 15, has become a rising star in the martial arts world. _FightersUnited _caught up with the prodigy at a local tournament last year; although he has proven to be a young man of few words, he replied to Todd Wayne's questionnaire of a future championship with, "I don't care about winning any championships. Hercule Satan can keep it however long he wants; I just compete for the fun—a hobby." _

_The tournament rings aren't the only place this young martial artist has been attaining popularity; although his family has been under the microscope for the mysterious events of the Cell Games five years ago, his fan-base has since grown as he's matured. Needless to say, there is much to know about this stoic, teenage heartthrob fighter. _

Shaking my head, I placed the magazine back in its slot and went on about my exploring, picking out a few books along the way. I could never walk out of a bookstore or library with just one book; it was against my nature to only pick just one story out of a sea of millions that were waiting to be discovered and read.

When I found Gohan, he was already sitting on a measly stool, skimming through the first chapters of a book. He met my eyes with another warm smile as I planted myself in a dome-shaped stool adjacent to his, indulging in the same adventure of a new story. The only challenge was deciding which one to start with first.

Thankfully, my keen sense of story-picking had never failed me yet; within the first few chapters of this first book, I was hooked and I soon lost myself in that gravitational pull of words and mental images. How much time had passed, I didn't know and didn't care. Yet somehow, in the back of my occupied mind, I remained acutely aware of Gohan's silent presence beside me.

We were both lost in our own worlds until I felt someone poke the back of my head firmly. Looking up, I found it was Elliot. "Well, Gohan, it looks like you've finally found yourself a book-nerd friend," he snickered, rubbing my head. I was hardly fazed by the gesture; Paul used to give me head-rubs all the time. "Have you two really just been sitting here reading books for the past hour?"

Had it really been an hour? "Is there a problem with that?" I asked impishly, raising my brow.

"No. You're just the only person I know besides Gohan who can spend more than fifteen minutes surrounded by books, doing nothing but reading books." Elliot glanced over at Gohan with a wide, teasing grin, just as the rest of the group flocked around us.

"If you two book-club buddies are finished, how about we head over to the food court and get some grub?" Vince declared, earning the vote of everyone including Gohan and myself. My new adventures would have to wait.

After paying for our books, Gohan and I joined the others and headed for the food court. The smells and aromas made my mouth water; I couldn't decide which I wanted to go for: Japanese, Italian, American, or Mexican… Everything smelled so wonderful. Gohan and Vince made up my mind in ordering enormous chicken and rice bowls with mildly sweet teriyaki sauce. The serving would satisfy my demanding appetite until dinner.

Since I'd had my fair share of show and tell, I encouraged my new pack mates to tell me more about themselves. Needless to say, I learned quite a bit; from nicknames to hobbies, accomplishments and lifestyles. Although together, they made one pack, each individual or pair came from different packs and families from different locations and ways of life. Ian and Jade both came from modest, humble families. Elliot was from the rougher side of the pedigree; his pack was more the grungy, underdog bikers whereas Jasmine came from a more refined, proper family of a high-grade socialite pack.

The personal story which captured my attention the most, however, was Vince's. Having come from an old-fashioned pack who abided by a dark-ages lifestyle, Vince's father was an aggressive drunk, especially after his mother passed away. He didn't go into great detail, but merely said, "I was in a downward spiral into lifelessness. But I finally had enough and ran away; I met Renea's father through a chance encounter and ended up living with them. They saved me; she saved me, Don saved me, and even Gohan. I wouldn't be sitting here today if it wasn't for them." The gratification and blessedness was apparent in his handsome hazel eyes when he looked at Renea; whenever those two looked at each other, it was as if fireworks were being set off around them. For some reason, I couldn't stop smiling.

After our rounds of twenty questions were over, the fun and games ensued. Elliot snatched up some packet of extreme hot sauce, dropping a handful of packets to each guy in the group. The girls and I stayed out of the little game, though Renea assured me it was entertaining to watch. The goal of this pastime was to see who could consume as much hot sauce as they could; if one coughed or choked, they were out.

_Oh this should be good… _I snickered as the boys ripped open packet after packet of sauce. Gohan was going on six, and just barely grimacing. By their fifteenth packets, Ian was coughing and wheezing; relieved of the competition, he immediately chugged down some ice water. I felt awful for laughing. Vince was wincing but still in the game, and Gohan was beginning to squint now. Obviously, Elliot was no amateur at this game; he kept tearing open little packets even when Gohan and Vince were allowing more reactions to slip through their tough facades.

Down to the wire, it was Gohan and Elliot. I was silently rooting for Gohan, but as his grimace became more apparent and the muscles in his neck convulsed, I knew he was at his limit. Sure enough, he forfeited for a much-needed glass of water, and Elliot took yet another win.

"Tournament's comin'," Jade announced with eagerness. From there, our table burst into chatter.

"Hey, Jordane, you should enter! That would be so bad-ass! There needs to be another female fighter in the big leagues."

"Oh no," I objected to Jade's enthusiastic remark. "I mean, it would be fun, but there is no way my mother would let me enter. She's very…strict when it comes to fighting." The thought of competing in a tournament for martial arts sounded too good to pass up. I wished there was a way I could spin the situation to where my mother would let me go, but I knew she wouldn't break, regardless how much I begged.

"That sucks," Jade expressed. "That would be so awesome if you could enter, you would kick ass. Wouldn't that be something if you and Gohan fought each other in the final rounds?" I tittered indecisively at the idea. When someone amongst us hummed thoughtfully, my attention shifted.

"Who says your mom has to know?" Elliot shared sneakily. "Why don't you just have Gohan train you in secret?"

"Uh…"

"Excuse me?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A little chapter for showing the bonding between Gohan and Jordane, and the others in the pack. Sorry if the story is going slow for some readers; we're still a good 5 chapters or so away before any real action starts :/ It's a lot of build up, but hopefully once we start getting to the good stuff, it'll all be worth it/help the story. **

**- J**

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	24. 23: Drifting

**23. Drifting**

**_Gohan_**

As the others continued to hound and pursue the idea of me training Jordane for the tournament, my initial reaction to object was slowly veering toward acceptance. When Jordane was asked what she thought of the idea, I glanced her way eagerly.

"I do want to enter," she finally said. "I mean, don't you think it'll do me some good, Gohan? It'll give you a chance to help me gain control of my abilities, but also a chance for me to test that control in fights."

My brows shot up. She did have a good point I couldn't refute. Sure, I could teach her all the tricks of the trade to control her powers and energy, but what came next after I turned her back loose in the real world? "Well," I sighed, "I suppose there would be an upside to it."

"Yeah, it'd be something fun to do over the summer, anyways!" Renea eagerly agreed, flaunting one of her overly excited grins.

"There's only one thing I'm concerned about, to be honest…" Jordane's timid remark caused the table to go quiet. "It's in front of a bunch of people, isn't it? The tournament, I mean. I have a bit of an issue with stage fright."

"You'll learn to get over it. You just get so caught up in the fighting that you really forget there are people watching you."

"Besides, Jordane, the whole tournament experience itself is just awesome," Renea continued. "There are festivals that go on from all day and all night, all four days of the competition. Anything you can think of, it's there."

"But we have yet to settle the main issue: How are you going to get Jordane's mom to let her go, not just for the competition, but for the training?" Vince inverted the topic of conversation back to a more pressing matter.

"How about you say the time for the training will be for something else?"

"Oh, I know!" Renea bounced off Jazz's suggestion. "We can say you're taking part in an equestrian tour with us. Every summer, just after the martial arts tournament, there is a global tour of equestrian shows. Rather than sports, it's more about fun, innovative horsemanship. You will have to come with us after the tournaments, cuz I know you'll love it, but for now we can put that in place of the tournament and just tell your mother that Gohan or I are letting you use one of our horses in this tour! She'd approve of that, won't she?"

"That's actually brilliant," Jordane expressed hopefully. "But, first thing about my mom is, she is extremely protective of me, even more so now than when I was a kid. I mean, when I met Amanda, she didn't even let me go over to her house—let alone stay the night—until we'd been friends for a couple of months. And meeting her family was an absolute must as well." Jordane's testimony wasn't too outrageous. My mother was very similar; however, it gave us just the information we needed in order to approach the situation correctly.

"Well then, let's get to it and schedule a dinner-date with our families."

* * *

><p>My mother was hustling back and forth in the kitchen, making sure the dishes she concocted were of perfect quantity and quality. My father stared at the freshly prepared food with intent, hungry eyes as my mother stored them in Tupperware. Goten waited impatiently at the table, twitching his leg.<p>

"Where are we going?" he asked, for what felt like the dozenth time.

"We're going to have dinner with a new friend of mine. Her name is Jordane, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Now listen, especially you, Dad; try to refrain from mentioning anything about our family tradition in participating in martial arts."

"'Refrain' means do or don't…?"

I sighed at my father's naivety. More often than not, being the person with the highest I.Q. in my family was as much a curse as it was a gift. "It means, hold yourself back from saying or doing something; in other words, keep your lips zipped."

"But why?"

"Because Jordane's mother isn't a big fan of martial arts, that's why. Oh, and there is to be absolutely, positively _no_ mention of our _other_ family 'tradition'," I strictly encouraged. My father's carefree mug contorted in a concerned scowl.

"Gohan, lying isn't very good of a start in meeting new friends!"

It may have made him an angelic saint, but I swear, my father's morals could cause inconvenience in the most taxing situations. "Dad, not mentioning something isn't lying. You can't lie about something you're not going to say. I'm not proud we have to leave that part of our family out, but for the time being, it's just best that Jordane's mother not know we're a family of super-freak martial artists who save the world from alien tyrants. Maybe once Debb gets comfortable with us, then we can confide in her, but for the time being, we all remain mum on the subject."

"Mummy's on what?" Goten squeaked in confusion. I rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath to help alleviate the building anxiety in my body.

I didn't tell my mother or father that Jordane had intentions of entering the martial arts competition. That would come later, when our parents have become acquainted. I'll admit, I felt awful having to lie to both my parents as well as Jordane's mother. But in the end, it was going to help.

"Are you sure this is enough food? Do you think I should have made something else?"

"Mom, the dishes you made are fine." Better than fine; my mouth was watering from the smell of them. In no time at all, we were walking up Jordane's front porch. There was no use in denying it; I was rather nervous. Not about seeing Jordane, but about how our families would get along.

In seconds, Jordane opened the front door, greeting us with her protective, shy smile. I knew this get-together would be of informal attire, and yet, my mother still insisted we all "dress up" for the occasion.

As Jordane stood before me in a loose-fitting tee and jeans, I felt overdressed in my clean-cut slacks and long-sleeved turtle-neck shirt. "These could be our future in-laws and you want to dress like a punk?" was what my mother had shrieked at me when I was prepared to leave in my typical jeans and T-shirt. She gave a similar response when my father wanted to attend in his trademark orange-and-blue fighting gi uniform. So, my mother stuck him in a proper evening jacket and button-up shirt with slacks. Goten wore an outfit similar to mine.

Introductions went smoothly enough. My mother and Jordane's were all smiles and easy tones, with remarks full of compliments about cooking and appearances. "Oh my goodness. Well, it's a no-brainer where you got the bulk of your beauty from, Jordane," my mother said, "Your mother is a stunning creature herself!" It was amusing to see Jordane and Debb flash a similar expression of timid flattery.

It was true, Jordane did get a great deal of her beauty from her mother; of course, I hadn't seen any photos of her father, but from what was in front of me, the similarities were too blatant to miss. Although shorter than her mother by a few inches, Jordane carried the same posture and physical stoutness as Debb; her eyes were the same shape, her nose small with the uncanny concave structure, and these facial features were complimented by full, elegantly arched eyebrows of similarly flowing outline—Jordane's had a sharper edge to them, though. Debb's hair was far darker than Jordane's and different in texture, and her eyes were an off-hazel in comparison to Jordane's darker brown orbs. Regardless, the mother-daughter resemblance was irrevocably apparent.

The house was filled with the luscious aroma of home-cooking. Jordane and I coordinated as to who would cook what, so we wouldn't end up with a dinner table full of mismatched foods.

Debb was all over Goten, flattering him into opening up a little more. "Aren't you just the cutest young man I have ever seen," she complimented in a high, cheerful voice. Goten, being the shy kid he is, finally broke a smile and inclined his head into my pant-leg. The little reaction made everyone laugh, even Jordane.

A good fifteen minutes was spent with our families mingling and getting to know one another. Debb may have appeared to be a rather strictly proper and solemn person upon first impression, but once the atmosphere was more relaxed, she proved herself to be very similar Jordane; open, honest, yet not without her share of lighthearted fun.

Finally, we sat down together for dinner; my stomach was slaying me with hunger. Jordane and her mother prepared delicious casseroles, pastas, and white meat dishes. They'd blend wonderfully with my mother's soups and rice dishes, of which Debb had no idea she'd be bringing. But that was just like my mother; to be proper and generous, she'd go the extra mile even if no one ever asked her to.

Debb and Jordane went first with their family history, most of which Jordane had already told me about. Her family's restaurant, military family history, and various trials and adventures they've gone through. Debb shared a rather fond memory she had of Jordane when she was a child; they had gone camping with their relatives when a very small deer fawn was spotted in a raging creek.

"God, it just broke my heart. The poor thing was stuck waist-deep in mud while the heavy current from the creek was coming up over its head. You could tell it was just exhausted; it barely had any energy left to keep its head up. Before I realized she was even gone, Jordane was over across the riverbank, in the water and tried to dig the deer out! By the time her uncles heard me crying and calling, she actually got the little baby out of the mud and onto dry land. I actually have pictures somewhere, I'm pretty sure." Judging by Jordane's awkward reaction when her mother got out of her seat to search through a book shelf, it was easy to see she thought her mother was over-exaggerating about her heroism.

Debb returned with a photo album and after flipping through a few pages, she passed around a couple pictures, starting with my mother. I eagerly awaited my turn to view the photos; when they finally circled to me, I drank in the seven-year-old counterpart of the girl sitting beside me, imprinted eternally in the glossy finish of the paper. I smiled at what I saw. Little Jordane in a purple bathing suit and shorts, carrying the fawn in her tiny arms ever so delicately as if it were a frail newborn.

"I always say, it takes nothing from a person to be kind to another living being," my dad happily expressed, picking up his rice bowl just as he uttered the last word.

"For sure," Mom agreed. "You have a heart of gold, my dear."

"Thanks," Jordane tittered, bowing her head.

"Your hair is different in this picture." It was utterly random; I didn't know why I let my mouth run with the thought.

"Yes, her hair was brown then. That's her _natural_ hair color; golden brown with copper lowlights. As to why she dyed it to be black and red like something out of a House of Horrors, I don't know," Debb grumbled, veering over at her daughter with a skeptical—yet playful—glance.

"Teenagers go through their phases, I guess," Mom sighed, smiling at Jordane.

"I think you should let your hair color come back." In seconds, I found myself looking in Jordane's wide, surprised eyes.

"Really?" she uttered quietly, continuing to curl her fingers through her hair absently.

"Yes." Black hair with a red streak was all I'd known Jordane by—well, there was that first encounter I had with her in wolf form when she came here; I had no idea it was her until I recognized her voice. So I suppose, technically, I had seen her original pelt color as a wolf, but it still wasn't satisfactory; I wanted to see the mature counterpart of that little brown-haired girl from the photo.

Jordane and I were staring at each other unconsciously for a second too long; it took several blinks for me to come to my senses and notice both our mothers' eyes were honed in on us.

"Well," Debb expressed, clearing her throat slightly, "Nice to know I'm not the only one who'd prefer my daughter with her natural hair color. But maybe she'd feel more inclined to follow through with it based on your opinion rather than mine, Gohan."

"Mom." The low, taut bark from Jordane's mouth only merited snickers and giggles from our mothers. My father was too occupied with stuffing himself with as much food as he could find, and Goten was too young and confused to care that Jordane and I were being teased.

The matter was dropped promptly. The next topic of conversation was what my family did for a living and for leisure. My mother took the helm. "I come from a line of royal families. So financially we're pretty stable. Both Goku and I are able to stay home and care for the boys and our horses."

Debb scoffed. "What I would give to have that kind of luxury. Especially these days, with Jordane growing up. We used to do so much when she was younger but because things have gotten rough financially back at home, we had to cut back on family vacations and trips. I'd love to start taking her places again before she becomes too old to want to do stuff with me."

"Oh, spending time as a family is the most important thing in the world!" Mom agreed with Debb's sentimental confession.

"But you always said there's nothing more important than getting an education—when it came to Gohan, I mean," Dad accused innocently.

"Well, it's not like that philosophy hasn't paid off, has it?" With that, Mom glanced at me with a distinctly proud smile.

"So, Gohan…" Debb merited my attention with a gentle tone, "What are you going to do when you get to college? Do you know what you want to do?"

"I have a pretty good idea, yeah. I'd like to work toward a medical degree."

"In fact, the courses he's already taking in school now are counting toward college; they are college courses, actually, just being taken in high school," Mother proudly declared.

"Well, that's something. You must be quite an intelligent young man."

"Thank you."

Every single serving on the table was devoured, and yet I still had room for dessert. Jordane retrieved a delicious dish of Oreo cheesecake; the smell was absolutely delectable, and its appearance was just as so. However, the taste was enough to make me melt.

"Jordane, you made this? It's absolutely delicious!" my mother praised. Dad inhaled his slice, but it was just enough to top off his generous meal.

"You're quite the cook," he said, smiling at Jordane.

"Thanks."

"Gohan." Goten had left his chair by my right and pulled on my pant leg. "Gohan, can we play now?" He had been occupying himself with Jordane's dog, but after sitting for such a long period of time, the tyke needed something new. I politely looked amongst the table, silently asking permission.

"Jordane, why don't you show Goten that playroom?" Debb suggested.

Goten's eyes lit up. "Playroom?" He could hardly contain himself as he trotted anxiously behind Jordane upstairs and through her bedroom. Along our way, he spotted the house Jordane had made for her Beanie Babies and other collectibles. He was so enthralled with it, he eagerly declared he wanted one. I didn't have the heart to tell him it couldn't be bought in a store, and apparently neither could Jordane. So she redirected his attention to the playroom as promised, and we walked through the attached study and came across a narrow door. Its space was roomy enough for them to walk through; I, on the other hand, had to incline my body downward and sideways to be able to squeeze in.

"Wow!" Goten was already bouncing off the walls by the time I'd begun observing the cleverly laid-out room. It was a generously-sized rectangle, the walls decorated in various themes, complete with sturdy stairs and walkways, and with playhouses to match.

"Nice."

Jordane smiled at my remark. "The previous owners were daycare people, I guess and this was the playroom for the daycare. I sometimes just get take my sleeping bag in one of the playhouses and just camp in here."

Goten climbed, hung, and crawled over every single obstacle and surface; laughing and giggling to his heart's content. "I think he's just found his new favorite place."

Jordane snickered. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you guys are welcome here whenever you want." Her smile was genuine and warm, making it evidently easy to see the authenticity to her offer.

"Gohan, come play!" Goten dropped onto my shoulders from a beam; the force was hardly enough to budge me, but I threw myself to the ground anyways to play along. I tossed Goten gently to the ground and hovered over him, growling and simulating wolf play—his favorite thing to do. He climbed on me and play-bit me with tiny fangs; he nicked me a few times but it was a mere pinch, nothing painful at all. It was second nature for my retorts to be gentle and careful.

From behind me, I heard Jordane laugh. When she spoke, she did so with an enthusiastically loud voice, imitating a sports announcer. "Ooohh! Almighty Gohan gets a blow from Unstoppable Goten, but oh he swings back with a good hook! Unstoppable Goten just won't quit, he just keeps comin', he's going to go all the way and win the title! Oh but wait, Almighty Gohan just may have something up his sleeve… Oh a body-slam! D'oh! Unstoppable Goten bounces right back and—whoa! He has Almighty Gohan pinned! Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…!"

With Jordane's narration of our playful antics like an announcer at a wrestling match, my gut was hurting because I was laughing so much. I still could have easily subdued my younger brother, but I was more than happy to let him take the victory.

We must have stayed up in this play-place for an hour before we heard the call from our mothers to return downstairs. Goten wasn't the least bit pleased about it, but he conformed to our mother's wishes without stirring up drama.

When it came time for the night to close, I have to admit, I was as disappointed and let-down as my young brother was. My parents invited Debb to the fairgrounds this weekend, and Jordane and I must have shared the same thought; another opportunity for her mother to see our equestrian way of life, and another reason to be comfortable with her daughter being around me. I could no longer deny that I really looked forward to training Jordane for the tournament. In fact, I probably looked forward to it more than I should have.

"Mommy, I want to go back!" Goten repeated for the fifth time when we reached home.

"Don't worry, son," Dad assured him, while my mother simply smiled. "We'll be seeing Debb and Jordane again soon."

"And their doggy and kitties?"

"Of course!"

"Yeah, you heard Jordane," I said to Goten, encouraging him to sit on the couch with me. "She said we're welcome over there anytime." Satisfied, he finally dropped the subject and got distracted by his favorite sitcom on the television. Even though he was too young to understand the jokes, he still laughed whenever the studio audience in the background would.

Glancing over at my mother as she washed the dishes, I found she was still wearing the same dangerously quiet smile from when we left Jordane's. Why did I say dangerous? Because I could only imagine the ridiculous thoughts spiraling around in her head, especially with her remark about "in-laws" earlier that evening. She and I went through this with every girl I met; she wanted to play matchmaker and betroth me to a she-wolf. Then again, I suppose having married my father at such a young age, she didn't see anything obtuse or unorthodox about getting married at eighteen or even younger.

I loved my mother, but I hated it when she did this. If I thought the teasing from the guys was bad, that would be nothing compared to what I'll be getting from my mother—especially once Jordane came to stay with us for training.

Upon catching a faint energy signal in the area, I found the idea of fresh air impossible to pass up. I didn't bother to ask my father if he wanted to go on the outing; the individual I wanted to see was someone I'd prefer to have a one-on-one with. It had been a considerable amount of time since I last saw him—too long.

Tonight was absolutely beautiful; the sky was an off-shade of navy blue, not quite solid enough to pass for black. The stars were miniscule diamonds in the dark sea, and I had a sudden longing to be out amongst them in the galactic canvas of space.

I didn't need to hone in on the specific energy signal; I knew where my friend would be. Coming round a mountain bend and catching sight of a waterfall, sure enough, I found a white cape flowing in the gentle breeze. I didn't need to announce myself; he could sense my approach as soon as I left my house.

"Been a while, kid." The deep, rich voice was and always had been the sound of my childhood, just as much as my father's voice was.

"That's putting it lightly," I said, scooting in beside him until we were floating in midair just a little ways from each other. "What brings you down here from the Lookout?"

An aberrant platform that hovered above the Earth in the skies, where Piccolo spent his days, was what we affectionately called "The Lookout". It offered perhaps the most breathtaking, once-in-a-lifetime vantage point of the world. I couldn't blame Piccolo for staying up there for the view; then again, the fact that eight-foot-tall green men with pointed ears and fangs didn't blend in well with society wouldn't have made life amongst humans any easier.

"I needed to stretch my legs, so to speak. It easily becomes dull, sitting in one place for too long. How have you been, Gohan?" He spoke all this without turning to face me, keeping his eyes on the vast nightly landscape. The lack of eye contact didn't bother me; this was how carried on an emblematic conversation.

"If you asked two weeks ago, my answer would have been 'not so good'. But lately, I've been pretty good."

The muscle in his hairless brow twitched upward, and he peered over at me from the corner of his eye curiously. "What is so different now from two weeks ago?"

Unable to find a quick way to summarize the events of the past two weeks, I chuckled. "Well, it's really a long story, but in short, I've met a hybrid like me—a werewolf who also happens to be part Saiyan."

Piccolo's head tilted completely for me now, black eyes clear and wider than usual. "Another Saiyan?"

"Yeah, surprise," I snorted humorously. "Apparently, her dad died before she was born—far before Raditz and Vegeta came into the picture and told my dad about Saiyans, which would explain why we never sensed him. Also, she isn't very experienced with her powers. She doesn't know how to contain her energy consistently or how to exert it. I've made arrangements to train her, so she can harness her abilities. That way, the risk of hurting someone won't be hovering over her head, and I won't have to babysit her."

"Well, sounds like you're going to have your hands full. I suppose you and your father are entering the tournament next month?"

I scoffed. "Of course. Are you entering this year?"

Piccolo's green lips brandished a smirk. "I doubt it. Going up against the likes of you and your father make it pointless, and the tournaments have become such shallow media sideshows that there isn't much honor or dignity left in them."

"Touché," I granted. "But you won't enter, even just for fun?" I didn't bother hiding the hopeful edge in my voice. The other Z-warriors had agreed to at least attend the tournament as spectators, since it had been so long. I wanted Piccolo there to complete the group. "Come on, why don't you and Dad give an encore of the greatest match in World Championship history, the infamous battle between Son Goku and Majunior?" That got a chuckle out of him.

"I'll think about it. Even if I don't compete, I'll come to watch."

That would be a good enough deal; I nodded as a positive response. Continuing to gaze out at the majestic terrain before me, a bittersweet and melancholy mood overcame me. I sighed. "It really is nice seeing you again, Piccolo."

Piccolo looked at me again, visually acknowledging me. His eyes, which were usually stone and emotionless, began to soften. "I never realize just how much time has gone by, until I see how much you've grown. When I saw you three years ago, you were still a child to me. I can hardly still call you a child, now that you're a man before my eyes."

"Almost a man," I muttered with a modest smile. "Piccolo?"

"Yes?"

"Why is it like this? Why is it that the only time all of us see one another is to gather for a battle, and then after the peace returns, everybody parts ways again and don't ever talk to each other for months or years afterward?" I wasn't sure if he had the answer, but hearing any wise words he had to say would be even just a small comfort.

Thoughtful silence plagued the air around us, but I patiently waited for what he had to say. "I can't answer that. I suppose even close friends fall out of touch for no reason. Each have their own lives, and, in ways, we all live different lifestyles and often in different worlds."

As much as I wanted to express my internal thoughts, I kept them to myself. I missed everyone—especially Piccolo—to a near painful level, but I had to stop acting like a child. They were all adults, and as Piccolo said, all had their own lives. Since none of them were werewolves, I never could share that common trait with them. Now that I thought of it, our lifestyles truly were different.

Krillin was a family man now, and lived with his wife and two-year-old daughter, so he was never available to just go on an adventure at a moment's notice. Tien had always been a loner of our group, and always disappeared to go his own way when the fighting was done. Yamcha preferred to live his days in the social scene as a forever-searching bachelor. Because of Goten's frequent play-dates with Trunks, I got to see Bulma often, but in being a multi-tasking mother and inventor and the wife of an arrogant Saiyan prince, it wasn't always my ideal atmosphere.

"Something on your mind?" Piccolo's voice disrupted my daydreaming.

"No," I lied with a smile. He smiled in return, only it wasn't consolidating.

"Gohan, it might have been a while since we've talked, but I know you. You have that look on your face you get when you're in deep thought about something."

Sighing, I let a frown return to my face. "I just wish it wasn't like this; I wish people I cared about—people I was raised around—wouldn't flock away from me during times we should all be together. I don't want years and years to go by and have us miss out on big things in each other's lives—in my life." A firm pressure came down on my shoulder.

"I can't guarantee it'll change, but it will get easier." Piccolo's face fell stoical once more, and I sighed. I didn't expect him to give me false-hope just to spare my mood, but his lack of definitive answers still left my shoulders feeling heavy.

In later years, it's always felt as though my time with those I love was limited, as if they wouldn't be in my life forever—not by inevitable death, but by something almost just as heartbreaking: drifting away from each other, losing touch… Our group's loyalties have stood the test of time up to now, but there was no guarantee it would remain so.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeehaw for awkward first-time family dinners! Hehe. The scene with Gohan and Piccolo was a last-minute addition; I felt there needed to be a little heart-to-heart between the two :) I hope I got their relationship down alright; I've always loved Piccolo and the bond he and Gohan have. **

**- J**

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	25. 24: A Protector

**24. A Protector**

**May**

**_Jordane_**

Feeling comfortable leaving our parents to mingle back at the stables, Gohan and I set out on our own adventure through the fairgrounds. Right away, he made a rather bold proposition that left me shaking in my boots.

"No. No, no, and no!" I whined, planting my weight in the soles of my feet as Gohan easily pushed me along toward a monstrous-looking carnival ride. It was far worse than any roller coaster I'd ever set eyes on; just a small two-seater contraption hooked to bungee cables and two towers over a hundred feet high. No way in hell was I getting on that!

"Oh, come on! You mean to tell me you've never ridden something like this before?" Gohan asked with a carefree laugh, stepping in front of me now.

"Do I look like a girl who has?" I asked through gritted teeth. He tilted his head in that damned cute way that stunned me like kryptonite.

"Are you afraid of heights?"

Half-shrugging, I said, "Heights, being propelled hundreds of feet into the sky at sixty miles an hour, with only little measly seat belts and bungee cords separating me from the ground…"

I knew I was going to lose this bout when he let go and laughed that rare but lovely giggle of his; he wasn't poking fun at my weakness, but rather he seemed surprised by it. "Well, if I'm ever going to teach you how to fly, you need to get over that fear of heights, and what better way to start than to go on adrenaline-filled, blood-pumping carnival rides?"

Glancing up at the ride again—just in time to see a couple be rocketed into the night sky—I swallowed harshly and groaned. "Jordane." Upon hearing my name, my eyes snapped back to Gohan's, who looked at me with a soft patience. "You know I won't let anything happen, right? Even if, by some bizarre prospect, the ride had a malfunction in any way, I'd have you far before you even hit the ground."

"I know…"

"Come on," he egged again, grinning. "Who better to go on a death-defying ride with than me, the strongest guy in the world?" The playful question got me to snort a light chuckle, and that was all it took. I willingly followed him into line, fidgeting and twitching nervously until it was our turn.

A strange sense of claustrophobia came over me as the ride attendees strapped me in; the secureness of the restraints should have comforted me. Instead, they only made me feel trapped. When Gohan asked how I was doing, I lied and said I was fine, when on the inside, I felt as though I would burst out of my skin.

The gears in the restraining mechanism that held us to the platform began to shift, and out of panic, I lashed out with my right arm and latched it around Gohan's. He felt a little tense, but besides that, he didn't object, and I was grateful for it. As long as I was close to him, I felt secure.

In a gut-dropping gravitational force, we were launched like a slingshot up into the air; my eyes clutched shut. Feeling the sick sensation of vertigo was bad enough; I didn't need to get dizzy and disoriented from seeing how high up we were. Beside me, I could hear Gohan hollering.

"Open your eyes!" he encouraged. "Open your eyes and put your head back!" Inching my eyes open one by one, the navy sky above us, lit by city lights and stars, shifted in closeness as the slingshot continued to carry us up and then fall back down. If my hands weren't so busy clutching at the handlebars, I would have reached out for the stars. Slowly and delicately I titled my head back as we hurled up for the skies again, and I couldn't stop the smile that slowly formed on my face. Was this what it was like to fly? I suppose I would find that out either way, eventually. My anxiety turned to exhilaration, and my heart soared with the ride, all the while feeling my stomach had been left down at the ground.

When the ride was over, I was actually disappointed. Gohan playfully coaxed me for a second bout, but I wanted to reserve a second go for next time. However, I was more than game for trying out other rides, which were of great variety in the expansive carnival. From a backwards cart cyclone, to spinning domes, and then a rocketing catapult rush off-ground, connected to long arms that flung us across several feet in rotation. I hadn't been on rides like these in ages, but it was even nicer experiencing them with someone new.

On this particular ride, there were several instances where a sudden, forceful jerk from the catapult's yo-yo-like rotation would squish Gohan and I together, arm-to-arm. He seemed to make a special effort to not notice the closeness, even if it was brief. I just waited for another motion to give me the leverage to lean away and give each other space again. I couldn't remember the last time I laughed and smiled so much—since before the move, I suppose; maybe even longer.

By the time we got off our tenth ride, I could barely walk straight for a few steps. Having had my fill of adrenaline, I lead Gohan to the alley where carnival games sat propped in a broad aisle. We both won our fair share of prizes and bragging rights; any stuffed animals he won, he would give to his brother, Goten.

Toward the end of the aisle, we came across a generously-sized pit that I instantly recognized as a shooting range of sorts. The targets—clay ornaments—were set up in a neat pyramid about thirty feet away. The fake rifle was very life-like in the sense its appearance didn't look like a cheap counterfeit. It had some weight to it, and its form was very familiar to hold and brace against me.

Feeling rather confident, I took my position, kneeling against the resting counter to take my aim. Once I was aimed in on a target, I squeezed the trigger, and a bean bullet was sent flying, cutting through the air and into a ceramic bauble. Squeezing off more rounds, I popped each target right on the dot.

"Just what all did your uncles and cousins teach you?" Gohan asked curiously, walking back for the stables.

"Lots of things," I giggled. "They taught me how to fix cars, shoot a gun, use a bow and arrow, daggers… Oh, and how to drive."

Gohan snickered. "Wow. You're a Jack of all Trades, eh?"

"I guess so."

"What, out of all your uncles and cousins have taught you, is your favorite thing?"

Going through the images of all activities in my head, I found at least one that had to be my favorite. "I'd say archery. My Uncle Will used to take me out in the woods when I was younger and he'd set up targets all throughout a trail for me to shoot. Sometimes, I'd do it on horseback. Now _that_ was real fun." I smiled, the memory bringing back the joyous rush of the exercise. The thought of my Uncle Will filled me with a revived sense of homesickness that I had managed to keep away all week up 'til now.

"Was there anything he taught you that you didn't want to do at first?"

"Plenty. I wasn't exactly an adventurous kid. There was this one time we went fishing; a huge sturgeon had caught on to my fishing line, and I wanted to hand it over to my uncle because it was heavy and I was scared I'd get pulled into the water, but he told me, 'Nah, you wrangle it in, kiddo. Be brave'!" I paused for a moment, smiling. "That's what he'd always say to me whenever I was trying new things and was scared or nervous; 'be brave'."

"Bravery is one of a warrior's best tools," Gohan commended softly, with such an intimate sense of conviction.

Reaching our parents, the next phase of our plan was up to me to execute. When Gohan led his parents back to their horses across the stable-yard, I knew my opportunity had presented itself. As smoothly as I knew how, I shifted the conversation of the Son's horses to the equestrian tour they would be taking in just a few months' time. Only, I altered the time frame to the dates of the Worlds Martial Arts Tournament.

I explained to her how Gohan invited me to stay at his house and prepare for it, and to travel with him and his family for the event. Adding small mentions like, "It's going to be a nice group thing" and "It'll give me a chance to settle in more and take my mind off of things" helped my cause.

"What about school?" Mom asked sternly. "Do you expect me to just let you take a month off so you can go to this thing?"

"I can keep up with my schoolwork; Gohan's done this more than once, and it hasn't hurt his attendance or grades. The school just needs to get a note from you and my teachers will give me the assignments I'll miss in class to finish when I can and turn in when I get back."

It was a struggle to keep my eagerness in check as my mother continued to ponder on all these factors. When she insisted she ask Chichi and Goku in person if it was all right I stay with them, my heart caught.

"Chichi? Jordane was just telling me of an event you guys are going to next month, and she said Gohan invited her to stay over and go with you guys? I just wanted to make sure you and Goku were truly all right with this little arrangement."

"Oh, well of course!" I sighed when Chichi so buoyantly welcomed the idea, and that my mom was so vague in mentioning this event.

"Yeah, Jordane is welcome over to stay any time," Goku added. I looked at my mother imploringly, exaggeratingly so. Pursing her lips, she glared at me with a strict eye.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

><p>"She said yes!" I shrieked happily, almost bouncing over to Gohan and the rest of the Alphas in the school parking lot. Renea squealed in glee, meeting me halfway for a hug. Looking over at Gohan, I saw he was smiling, and he nodded.<p>

"What sort of irrefutable, puppy-eyed act did you have to play out to get her to say yes?" he asked humorously.

"One hell of a convincing act," I snickered. "She wasn't too happy of the fact I'd be gone for nearly a month, but I agreed to call her every morning and night and since she really likes your parents, she finally agreed."

"Wohoo!" Elliot hollered. "Finally we'll get to see some new action this year. Hey, Gohan, if you get paired up in a match with Jordane, promise you guys won't go easy on each other. We want to see a real fight between two Saiyans. Give the people a real show worth talking about."

Exchanging a look with Gohan, I raised my brows with a smile, intrigued by Elliot's remark. He only chuckled at me, and he persisted to lead the group toward the school's entrance so we could start the day.

"You're in a good mood." This careless observation sounded like an accusation, as if Kendra knew there always had to be a reason for me to wear a smile like this on my face throughout the morning. "What's going on?"

I already made up my mind that I wouldn't hide this from Kendra; she was going to find out the truth sooner or later, since she, like most of the students here, attended the tournaments as spectators. Ripping out a piece of paper from my notebook, I scribbled down a message while Mr. Nikle was busy reading.

_You know the Martial Arts Tournament that__'__s coming up? I__'__m going to fight in it._

Passing the paper over, I glanced at the corner of my eye to catch Kendra's excited expression as she quickly scrawled something down.

_No way! That's awesome! You're going to be up against some big names though… Gohan will be one of them._

_That__'__s alright. Cuz I__'__m leaving this weekend to train with him for the tournament. Kinda like a month-long sleepover. _

The expression that came over her face nearly broke my silence. Mouth popped open, eyes wide and eagerly re-reading each word as if to be sure she saw right.

_Now he's inviting you over to stay at his house?! Gohan and his dad have NEVER taken pupils in the past… What's going on between you two?! And don't say 'nothing', because something is!_

_Well sorry to disappoint you, but nothing is going on! We__'__ve just become real good friends; we have a lot in common, and martial arts is one of those things. It__'__s going to be my first time, so he__'__s going to show me the ropes. _

When she read my note, Kendra almost looked disappointed that I hadn't spilled some big secret of a relationship between Gohan and me. I couldn't deny that now I found her disappointment entertaining. Go ahead and call me evil.

During Art, I excused myself to the bathroom, to get a chance to stretch my legs and clear my head for inspiration, so I walked especially slow. Even in art class, I needed to take a break from sitting down. The halls were quiet and empty, save for the lone groups of kids sitting outside their classroom doors to study.

Rounding the corner for the girl's bathroom, I stopped when I heard a band of voices bouncing off the walls behind the closed door. Carefully listening, I established the voices belonged to Rachel, Lacey, and Jane. Judging by the sharp tone of their voices, they were gossiping about something displeasing. Casually leaning against the nook corner behind the door, I eavesdropped.

"…She hangs out with them every morning now, as if she's part of their gang or something. But I thought you had to have rich or famous parents to be part of the Alphas." Rachel sounded confused.

"Apparently not. I guess she's just special then," Jane spat cynically.

"They're all freaks, but Jordane is the biggest freak of all of them. And do you see the way her and Gohan walk to class together? She thinks she's such hot shit 'cuz she gets to hang out with the most infamous guy in the city."

"Do you think they're dating, like, in secret?"

"I don't see how. I mean, Gohan has given every girl in this school the cold shoulder; I don't see anything special about Jordane Teague for that to change. Besides, it's not like she doesn't have every other popular guy in school chasing after her already."

"Like Kyle?" Rachel asked with a snicker. Lacey huffed.

"I don't know why everyone is having such a conniption over her. I don't see why the Alphas are talking to her, and I sure as hell don't know why Kyle is tripping after her like a lost puppy. She's just a freakazoid punk from a small town, and I hope someone puts her in her place."

Normally, I wasn't the type of girl to get hot-headed when others talked shit behind my back, but I couldn't help but feel a twinge of animosity toward Lacey and her band of impish witches. Hearing the clucking of their high-heels on tile coming for the door, I sunk back behind the corner, out of sight as they walked back for their class, prating on obliviously amongst each other. Resisting the urge to slam the bathroom door, I went in, nearly gagging when I walked into cloud of powder makeup and perfume.

Gravitating for the bigger stall in the back, I was about the turn around and shut it when a tall figure startled the hell out of me. The icy blue eyes I found were familiar in a distasteful sense. "You're in the girl's bathroom, you know," I uttered gruffly at the boy Gohan had called Chase, who stared at me, smug and cocky.

"Where else would I catch you alone?"

"Piss off." Before I could shut the door, Chase had pushed his way in, shoving me back against a wall. Not taking his eyes off me, he shut and locked the latch of the door, strolling up to me in an arrogant strut. The panicking feeling of being trapped began to set in, and I took longer than I should have contemplating how to react. When I lashed my leg out for his groin, he was inquisitive enough to catch it, and he closed in on me, trapping me from the waist-down with his own body. I shuddered being so close to him; the way his body pressed against mine felt so vulgar and repulsive.

"I thought you'd want to have a second chance to play, without Gohan interrupting," he said, his hands dropping to my shoulders and clutching me.

Like a recovering alcoholic facing temptation, I elected against testing my luck. As tempting as it was to put Chase in his place, I didn't want to stir any trouble that would come with it.

"Get the hell away from me—"

His hand clasped around my throat, choking my windpipe. I could feel the prick of his claws at the nape of my neck. "Or what?"

Taking advantage of his blind spot, I decked him in the abdomen with my fist, and I could hear the air being knocked out of his lungs. While he was stunned, I served him a violent head-butt, causing him to stumble back. My little repent had already left a prominent bruise. "Or that. I can do a hell of a lot worse, so leave me alone!"

"Jordane?"

_Renea! _I reached for the door and unlocked it, relieved to find Renea on the other side. When her eyes saw Chase scrambling to get to his feet, she looked at me with a wary concern. "Don't ask," I grunted, as we both cleared the doorway so Chase could stumble out of the bathroom, glaring at me with a spiteful scowl.

"Did he hurt you?" Renea asked from outside the stall door as I took care of my business.

"No, I'm fine. He just startled me, is all."

"Something must have almost happened, though, for you to have defended yourself." I knew she was genuinely concerned and I appreciated her looking out for me, but I didn't need her to worry about every little thing that happened.

"He just got a little too close for comfort. Like, up-against-me too close."

"Did he touch you?"

I didn't know why I blushed. "No, not like that."

"Chase is such a tool. He never learns his lesson; then again, Gohan only uses so much force to correct him. He may be strong, but he doesn't like to use violence if he can help it. Maybe once he knows Chase bugged you, he'll be coaxed to give him enough of a beating to make the message sink in deeper—"

"No." My snap of a remark stopped Renea's words. "Gohan doesn't need to know about this. It's nothing. He's got enough on his plate as it is." She looked at me worriedly, as if she didn't trust the idea of this slipping past Gohan's awareness. Sighing, she dropped the subject, to my relief.

I returned to class with a heavier mind, but managed to keep my composure for the rest of the morning. I impatiently looked forward to lunchtime; my stomach was grumbling uncontrollably by the time lunch hour rolled around. Walking into the cafeteria was like smelling heaven. I met up with Kendra along the food line.

Because it was routine, I began to head over to our table, not even thinking of the unpleasant company waiting for me, or the fact I was welcome somewhere else. Thankfully, Renea and Vince fixed that for me, when they called out my name from across the aisle. I looked at Kendra apologetically, feeling somewhat guilty for leaving her. To assure me, she smiled and said she would see me in English.

Joining the Alphas at their table, I tried to act natural, but it was difficult with all the intrusive glances and scrutiny of our peers surrounding us. I caught the spiteful leers of Lacey and her friends, and I could almost hear the things they muttered about me, but I ignored them. _I don't care. Their opinions mean nothing to me. _

"Where's Gohan?" I instantly noticed his seat was empty.

"I have no idea," Ian said, eyebrows puckering as he looked at the chair. "One of his teachers probably got him held up for an assignment or something." The possibility was plausible enough, knowing Gohan. So, I dismissed any concerns.

Renea and I exchanged sketches we'd completed in class, with Jasmine in on the observation as well. For the first time in probably ever, I drew a figure with clothes, for fashion purposes.

"Tie-dye shirts? I thought I was the only one who still loved to wear those!" Jade exclaimed happily, looking my sketch over.

"I'd wear tie-dye shirts if I still had any," I said in disappointment. "But it's hard to find some, at least where I'm from."

"Should have known you were a bit of the hippy type," Elliot teased, taking a huge bite of his burger.

"I have my moments," I retorted playfully.

"Well, if it's tie-dye clothes you want, I can get some made for you in a snap," Jasmine said pleasantly. Whenever she spoke, the noticeable British intonation hanging in her voice always caught me off-guard, simply because I had never known anyone even half-British before. "Just draw up some concepts and I'll get right to it."

"We should have a tie-dye day," Jade announced, chipper. "All of us should wear something tie-dye one day of the week."

"I ain't dressing in tie-dye," Elliot objected with a mouth full of food.

"All right, fine, it can be just us girls."

Snickering, I shook my head, my eyes falling on Vince's rather somber face. He looked as if the last thing on his mind was to join in the playful banter with the rest of us. Something was definitely on his mind, and I could see it reflecting in Renea's eyes. She only smiled at me, silently easing me it was nothing to worry about.

It probably would have worked, if a hasty commotion hadn't spread throughout the cafeteria in the last quarter of the lunch hour. Many of the tables began to empty as students flocked for the back exits. Amongst the clamor, I caught, "Chase Larkman just got beat to hell!", "Hurry up, come see before he leaves!"

I couldn't resist the pull of curiosity, and apparently neither could my pack brothers and sisters as we hurried for the back doors, where everyone stood in a clustered group on the walkway. Out toward the more desolate wing of the parking lot, I could see a figure limping away for a car not even fifty feet away. I had to take the spectators' words for it and assume it was Chase, because I sure couldn't recognize any features of the boy who'd confronted me earlier. His entire face was bruised and bloodied; even from as far as we were, I could see blood dripping from his nose and chin. His clothes were torn around his chest, equivalent with the swipes of talons.

When Chase looked our way, he flipped the band of teenagers off and continued to stumble for his car, almost hiding behind it and out of sight.

"Should we get the school guards to call an ambulance for him?" someone asked.

"Nah, let the asshole stay there. Obviously he doesn't want to be seen or helped."

As the crowd thinned out, I was able to look at Vince and Renea, who stood not far from me, glaring Chase's way with a justified yet worrisome conviction. "You told him, didn't you?" I asked quietly, looking at Renea with no set expression. Before she could answer, Vince spoke.

"She told me, which I then proceeded to tell Gohan." When he saw the displeased arch in my brows, he continued, "It's Gohan's responsibility to not only take care of those in his pack, but in his territory as well. Chase has been a cancer ever since he came here. It didn't matter who he messed with today—you, Renea, Jade, Jazz, or any of us—it's my duty, as Gohan's Beta, to inform him of anything bad going on under our watch, and it's his responsibility to take care of it before it gets out of hand."

"I guess I'm just new to this whole pack thing, at least, like this. My family never had much drama like this back at home."

"Don't worry about it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yep, Jordane's afraid of heights. Not for very much longer, though ;) Hehe**

**So she's got another "admirer" in Chase…but in a different way than Glen or anyone else. Besides, I had to give Gohan reason/opportunity to beat the living crap out of him. I think it's been proven time and time again in the manga/anime that if you mess with Gohan's friends/loved ones, you do so at your own risk ;) **

**Training for the tournament begins, next time on DragonBall Z! (haha I couldn't resist). **

**- J**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	26. 25: Ground Rules

**25. Ground Rules**

**_Gohan_**

When I saw his despicable, superior mug, my last thread of composure unraveled and snapped. I didn't care that it was broad daylight or during school hours; I dragged him to the back of the school, where the dumpsters were kept. No one was in sight, and we were far enough from any student hangout where we couldn't be heard. Good. Because I wanted to give Chase Larkman the most brutal beating he's had in his life.

One right hook, then a few more; a couple severe kicks to the ribs and pelvis; my talons slipped from concealment and found themselves piercing through and digging into Chase's flesh, adding to the sick, violent euphoria only my nefarious conscience relished in.

The sharp hint of blood filled my senses, somehow snapping me out of the vicious trance. With a huffing breath, I glared down at Chase with the utmost hatred and aversion as he coughed even more blood onto his clothes and skin. Grabbing him by the collar of his torn shirt, I slammed him against the stone wall; I could hear something in his spine pop.

"Consider this the final straw, and my final warning," I seethed under my breath.

"Aw," Chase responded, a gargled sound. "It took me picking on the new girl to hit your last nerve? How sweet of you to defend her honor."

"From this point on, if I see you wandering anywhere near my territory, I'll herd you right back out of it snapping at your heels. And if you ever go anywhere near Jordane again, I'll put you through so much pain, you'll be begging me to just snap your neck and end your pitiful existence. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, your highness," Chase leered through the swelling and blood. Whether or not he would actually abide by my law this time, I couldn't be sure, but we'll see later down the road. So, I let him fall to the ground and stormed off to the outdoor bathrooms near the track. Since there were no outdoor activities scheduled for P.E. classes this morning, I went ahead and rinsed off the blood on my hands in the sinks.

Even once I washed the red substance off, I could still feel its vile remnants on my skin, like an invisible sheen glued to my hand. Sighing, I looked up into the mirror, conflicted when I saw the identical eyes that stared back at me.

How could I be like this? How could I be someone who despised violence, yet for some sick reason couldn't live without it?

I gave myself a thousand excuses every day for any act of savagery I carried out; it was for my friends, for the protection of the people, for my family's honor… But when I'm left to face my demons in the emptiness of the night, these excuses brought little comfort or justification to my tattered humanity.

_Stop making things so damn complicated for yourself, _the distant, arrogant voice chided—the voice I wished I could be rid of.

Instead of going for the cafeteria, I headed for Mr. Banderaz's class; it wouldn't be the first time I've elected to sit in his class a half-hour early. So, for the remaining twenty minutes of the lunch period, that's where I sat, at my seat, feigning to read one of the new books I'd bought. Not even a new adventure in the book's pages could alleviate my troubled mood.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period. It wasn't long until Jordane walked into the room and took her seat beside me. It eased my anxiety some; the gentle fragrance of her lavender scent was a refreshing bouquet from the sharp tang of blood. We greeted each other in our casual manner. Upon looking at her face, I could tell something was off, though. The lighthearted, happy demeanor from earlier this morning was diminished some. Since we had an active class period, however, I couldn't inquire as to what was on her mind.

I was a tight, coiled spring up 'til that bell rang. Not even two steps behind Jordane, I accompanied her down the hall to her next class, a routine which was becoming startlingly natural. "Something troubling you?" I asked gently.

Her eyes snapped to mine, and she blinked. Setting her mouth, I couldn't help but wonder if she was debating whether or not to tell me. She remained quiet as we approached her locker. I waited impatiently as she idly took what she needed and placed what she didn't.

"I'm not troubled," she began thoughtfully. "But I saw Chase." Finally, she looked at me. At first, I thought she was confiding what Vince had informed me earlier, to spare herself a burdened mind. Turned out, that wasn't the case. "It was at lunch, he was stumbling for his car. I think nearly half of the school saw how beat up he was."

I let out a long breath I wasn't aware I'd been holding, knowing I've been caught, even before she said, "You beat him up." Letting my body weight shift so I was leaning against the lockers, I stared down at her, not wanting to hide, not from Jordane.

"Yes." There wasn't as much repentance in my voice as I expected; perhaps seeing her face again restored my conviction.

"Just because he confronted me…?" she asked wearily, as if the reason alone wasn't enough to warrant a beating for scum like Chase Larkman.

"Yes and no," I admitted, a half-truth. When I said nothing else, Jordane raised her brows.

"You're more than welcome to elaborate," she encouraged with a weak giggle.

"I've told you the kind of person Chase is. When I heard that he made a move on another girl right on campus—and that girl being you—I didn't want it to escape his mind that this is still my territory and if he tries to hurt anyone in it, regardless if they're human or wolf, he'll get corrected for it."

Nodding, Jordane stuffed the last book needed in her bag before closing her locker. "So…it's not just about me, then?" There was an impish tone to her question, so I smiled to encourage the humor.

"Nope, sorry." As it always did, the room lifted into a brighter ambiance when she smiled.

In P.E., the mood was realigned back to its lightheartedness, the incident with Chase had long faded from our minds.

"Gohan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you…think I walk with an attitude?" Jordane's random, shy query left me confused.

"How do you mean?"

"Do I have an arrogant walk? You know, is there something about the way I walk that makes me look like I hold myself above everybody else?" From the delicate furrow of her brow, I could see she was genuinely concerned about the matter.

I answered honestly. "No. You walk like…you."

She raised her brows, shrugging. "And what does that look like?"

Smiling, I adjusted my seat in the weight machine where I sat. "You walk fast, like you're always in a hurry to get somewhere. You're very taut; you keep your arms at your sides or in your pockets, never free-flowing. You always keep your head tilted just slightly downward, and you only move your eyes, not your entire head, to navigate your sight. The only thing you're telling people by your walk is you're humble, shy, and would prefer to stay invisible to the world. Is that enough of an analysis for you?" I chuckled.

Jordane snickered consciously, shuffling her feet as she leaned on the wall beside me. "I just overheard Lacey and the girls talking about me this morning, and one thing they said was that when I walk, I look as if I think I'm 'hot shit'."

Scoffing, I shook my head. "Jordane, come on. It's Lacey; she lives to gossip and talk down to people, and Rachel and Jane just drink it up like Kool-Aid."

"I know, I know," she sighed. I lightly kicked her shoed foot with my own.

"Don't fall for it again," I ordered sternly, but with a light and friendly enough demeanor to further encourage her.

Outside, Vince and I had just finished lifting weights in the outdoor courtyard when I caught sight of Jordane leaving her class group, making her way to us from across the field. The smile I held for her was wiped off my face when someone strolled into her path. Obscenities hissed through my teeth when I saw Kyle's despicably innocent face smile at her. I knew her smile was anything but genuine toward his presence.

"What's gotten under your skin now?" Vince was beside me.

I pursed my mouth. "Kyle's sticking his pitiful face where it doesn't belong."

Vince snickered. "He can never take a hint, can he?"

"No. That ignorance of his is going to get him in trouble with the wrong people someday…"

"Meaning you?" Vince nudged me, and I snorted. A few minutes passed quietly between us as we watched Kyle pester Jordane. The whole time, I struggled to keep my arms crossed against my chest, resisting the urge to walk on over and chase him off.

I picked up Vince's faint snigger. Apparently, something about the situation was amusing to him.

"You're jealous."

Broken from my intent trance, I glared at Vince skeptically. "What? Why in the world would I be jealous—of Kyle Davis, no less?"

"Jealous, possessive, territorial, whichever term you like; but right now, you're giving Kyle the look that's universal amongst all men."

"What look is that?"

"The 'get the hell away from my girl before I beat you into next week' look."

Stunned, I stared at my best friend for silent seconds before a broken laugh bellowed from my mouth. "Vince, you're hilarious," I managed to sigh once I'd calmed down.

He laughed with me, but unfortunately that didn't mean he'd drop the subject. "Hey, what else could it mean, especially with how you beat the shit out of Chase after I told you he confronted her?" I didn't know how to answer his provocative question—at least, not verbally; something else unintentionally gave me away. "Haha! Aw, I'll be damned, you're blushing!"

"No, I'm not," I growled, resisting the great urge to kick him and only prove his point.

Within minutes, Jordane was able to escape Kyle's pestilence, and she joined Vince and I at the weights. The three of us messed around, seeing who could lift the heaviest weight; it was entertaining to see her lift what most high school jocks couldn't without a tic of strain.

When the day was over, I knew I had the full moon to look forward to tonight. What I didn't look forward to was doing it alone. The others and I only turned together on the weekends, when we had no school the following morning; when a group of werewolves got together for a night, it was guaranteed to be a party 'til dawn.

Once in the safe sanctuary of my home, I wandered aimlessly around the mountain, checking the boundaries, marking my territory, and even indulging in the occasional encounter of a deer or wild cat. It wasn't until I caught track of another scent did my interests peak. I couldn't ignore it; after all this time, I was too drawn to this scent.

Wandering off for Jordane's territory, my heart thumped in my ribcage. How effortlessly she could affect me, but I muzzled my pride; I was done fretting about it.

By the time I reached the boundaries of her property, I found no sight or trace of her. With a withering disappointment, I considered the possibility she'd already went out for a short run and turned in early.

_Well, then you should just go home, call it a night. _

Peeking through the brush, I was at an incline just high enough to see over the fence; one of the bedroom windows was in my line of sight, but I couldn't see anything. Spotting a new vantage point, I climbed up a tree, where I could get a view into Jordane's bedroom.

Curiously, I watched her as she paced around her room, carrying a small notepad. Her mouth was moving, but she looked very absent-minded, and I couldn't hear anyone else in the room with her. I focused on her voice, and listened to her croon in soft notes.

"Will you take me away… Help me fly away…" She paused, concentrating. "Let me go with you, away from this vapid existence. Don't leave me astray… You are my resistance…" Her melodious voice made my bones soften; I leaned against a thick tree branch to support myself and I just watched and listened to her write her song. She walked with a little careless sway in her body, as if letting the music she played in her head guide her movements.

_What am I doing here? _I knew I was bored, but really? Shaking my head, that annoying, proud voice in the back of my mind chastised me for being so easily influenced to the point I'd travel across the mountains, just to stalk a girl from the shadows. It wasn't as if I wouldn't be seeing her in the weeks to come.

* * *

><p>Jordane hadn't quite finished packing by the time I arrived to her house. She apologized fervently, especially once her mother invited me in to socialize. I didn't mind, even as Debb prodded at me with questions she never got the chance to ask at the family dinner. Just a few of these questions were, "What do you like to do in your free time", "What kind of things do you and your friends do", and, probably the one that caught me off-guard, "So, I see you and Jordane have become pretty good friends in just this short amount of time. It's something, really; she doesn't open up and make friends so easily, and from what your parents told me, you're the same way." She seemed very enthralled about the idea. "So, you must really like my daughter, then? Do you have a girlfriend…?"<p>

Bemused by her questions, I knew by this point I was blushing; just a little. "No, I uh, don't have a girlfriend; I haven't dated before. I've got other things in life to focus on. But I think Jordane's a good girl, and there are things I admire about her, yes. She's very talented, too."

Debb nodded, apparently pleased with my attitude and responses. "She tells me the same about you. She really likes you, you know; she's got to, to be so comfortable to stay with you at your house."

Nodding, I just barely chuckled. "Thank you, I'm glad you think so. I'd like to think I am worthy of her trust."

Grinning broadly at me, Debb giggled. "You're a sweet kid. It makes me feel better about letting Jordane stay with you."

"I'm glad," I shared honestly, and assured her, "She'll have fun and be in good hands."

Just in time, Jordane finished up her packing, bringing down two full duffle bags, a tote-bag, and a backpack. I offered to carry a duffle bag, and I patiently waited by the door as Jordane said her goodbyes with Debb and her pets.

Jordane had said her mother never did well with her absence; already, even before we left, I saw the proof of her words. Debb was tentative and anxious, reminding Jordane to call her every day, especially once we arrived at my house, and to be safe and have a good time. With one last hug, we were out the door and on our way.

Since we had quite a drive ahead of us, I went ahead and made a mixed CD, filled with bands Jordane and I mutually liked; these varied from Staind, Flyleaf, Muse, Blue October, and Disturbed, just to name a few. Other than this, the car was sterile of conversation, save for the occasional annotations about landmarks or any scenery we passed by.

Whenever I could afford it, I glanced over to Jordane. Each time I looked at her, she was smiling, appearing so enthralled and zealous about the new world that surrounded her. "It's been so long since I've been on a road-trip and explored some place new… At least, with the exception of the whole move," she spoke.

"Where was the last place you were?"

"My mother and grandparents went to California, and to Disneyland. That was…two years ago."

"You said you and your family used to travel quite a bit. Have you been everywhere in the U.S.?"

She scoffed. "Not quite everywhere. I've been to…California, Florida, Idaho, and Montana."

"All wild places filled with nature," I responded with a smile.

"Of course," Jordane snickered. "Rural places are the ones I love the most. Don't get me wrong, though, I would like to go visit big cities; like Washington D.C., New York… I'd like to see their architecture and the city life at night."

"New York is dangerous at night," I warned humorously.

"Maybe to the average Joe," Jordane retorted. "Have you ever been to the U.S.? Like, to visit or whatever?"

"I've flown past there multiple times." Jordane rolled her eyes, and I laughed. "Yes, actually, I have been there, with Renea. The rest of her family live in rural New York, and a couple years ago she brought me along for a holiday there. It was nice."

"You'll have to come back to Washington with me sometime," she invited casually, as if she was trying not to sound too intrigued by the idea. I did very much find the notion inviting.

"Maybe someday, I just might." This thoughtful remark sounded more promissory than I'd intended it to be.

We reached my property by high noon; the sun was soaring up in the cloudless blue sky, illuminating this mountain realm with beautiful light. It was a cool and crisp afternoon; certainly too good to spend inside for long. _After I give Jordane a tour of my house, we'll have to go for a ride._

Parking on the side of my domed house, I watched Jordane's eager expression as she drank in all of the surroundings. I grabbed both duffle bags out of the trunk, leaving her to carry her tote and backpack. Opening the door, the familiar scent of light mint and strawberries greeted us. Everything was quiet and empty, a refreshing and comforting welcome committee.

"Is anyone home?" Jordane asked, looking at me.

"No, my parents went to spend the afternoon with a family friend; Goten has play-dates there all the time. Anyways, it's a pretty simple layout; here's the living room, and the kitchen over here. Your room is upstairs." Leading the way, I effortlessly rushed up the stairs that would lead to our attic and guest room, where she would be staying.

"I hope this is all right."

"Yeah, it's perfect," Jordane assured me, walking curiously around the spacious room; in the corner wall was a queen-sized bed, with the various bedroom furniture assortments. Behind the wall separating the room from our attic space was all my family's artifacts and belongings we had no room for in the house. After seeking my permission, Jordane wandered into this area, observing each artifact hung up on the walls, shelves, and in preservation cases. One set of keepsakes she paid special attention to were past gi uniforms my father and I both wore, which my mother insisted we keep. I named off each one and the era it stood for; truly, they were more than simple ensembles. Each gi represented a point in mine and my father's lives and careers, and Jordane was fascinated by each chapter I'd have to tell. We had plenty of time on our hands for those glorious stories.

Treading back downstairs, I directed Jordane to the guest bathroom, offering her a place to keep her toiletries and other hygiene products.

"Is this your room?" When we turned the corner from the bathroom, we faced a closed door with a name-plate on it.

"Yes." When she turned to me with an expectant smile, I chuckled.

"Well?" she asked sheepishly. "I showed you my room, now I get to see yours."

"All right." Turning the knob for my door, I opened the threshold to my room—my den, my sanctuary—to Jordane. I always kept things particularly tidy, so I wasn't nervous about any messes. It'd just been so long since I've had someone new in my room before, and I hardly ever hung out with anyone in there—not even Vince or Renea.

I stood quietly and curiously as Jordane leisurely observed my bedroom, from the posters on my walls to the books on my shelves. "Nice library," she commented pleasantly and with an underlying hue of humor, her eyes skimming over the various titles and authors my bookshelf brandished. From William Shakespeare, Bram Stoker, Victor Hugo, Edgar Allen Poe, to various other authors of modern and turn-of-the-century literature.

Her aimless path took her by my desk, which was perhaps the most untidy section in my room; my laptop was buried under notes and open books were sprawled over just about every available square inch of space. Glancing down at the text the pages of the textbook held, Jordane snorted amusingly. I believed the book was Mathematical Statistics.

"It used to be much bigger than this," I said pointlessly. "But we put up a wall, for Goten's room."

"So you didn't have to share a room with him?"

"I did, up until a couple years ago. Even once we divided our rooms, he didn't want to sleep in his, because he was so used to having me close by. He liked to sleep in the same room as me because he believed I'd keep the Boogeyman and monsters away." Jordane's brows furrowed with adoration.

"You sure are close." This wasn't a question.

"Yes, we are. I was the only male figure he knew for the first two years of his life before my dad came back into the picture." I didn't find any discomfort in how Jordane gazed at me somberly; in fact, the gesture was fascinating.

"Why? Where was your dad?" I don't know what expression came over my face, but something must have given away my vulnerability toward the subject, for Jordane blinked the way she did whenever she was flustered. "Unless it's too personal. Sorry, that was real inconsiderate…"

"No, it's okay," I sighed. "I've given you the general back story about my family and what we do. I might as well offer greater insight about my family's history, and our situation post-Cell Games." Walking over to my bed, I sat at the very edge of it, folding my hands into one another. Jordane simply leaned against my desk, continuing to watch me keenly.

"There are these seven spherical ornaments on this planet called Dragon Balls. They're orange orbs, each with a certain number of red stars on them. They've been around for centuries, and legend has it that once all seven are gathered, a dragon named Shenron will appear to grant you a wish. Like a genie, if you will." At this point, Jordane was far past being shocked or flabbergasted by any of my stories; if anything, she was simply intrigued and mystified to learn of such things. "One such wish he has the power to grant is the ability to restore someone's life, but he can only do it once per individual; he cannot restore life to the same person should they die again.

"Remember how I said I've travelled across the galaxies? Well, turns out, there is another set of Dragon Balls—an original set the ones here on Earth are duplicated from—and that dragon has the ability to grant three wishes, and has far more infinite power than our dragon. With that said, I'll make a long story short. My dad perished in the Cell Games five years ago. He…sacrificed himself to save the planet in its eleventh hour. Since he'd been revived by the dragon here before, we looked to return to the planet where the original set of Dragon Balls were, for that dragon had the power to bring him back. Before we had the chance, however, my dad spoke to us—telepathically—and told me he didn't want to return, that he felt it was safer for the world if he wasn't in it, since a majority of the enemies that we've faced surfaced because of him in the first place. He didn't know my mother was pregnant; none of us did until a couple months down the road. When Goten was born, not only was I his brother, I was the only father figure he ever knew.

"After our spill at the Intergalactic Martial Arts tournament three years ago, my dad changed his mind, which was brought on when I nearly died, and he was watching, from Other World. He watched as Bojack crushed and suffocated me, and he couldn't stand it; he used all of his power and energy—and broke a sacred law of afterlife—to teleport back here and save me. He hated not being able to help me, and I guess he just missed life here on Earth… So he and I coordinated for a while and I ended up going to Namek to use their Dragon Balls to bring him back. Goten didn't know how to react to him at first; but I'd told him so many stories of our father and his accomplishments, it didn't take long for him to warm up to Dad, and Dad just adored him the minute he laid eyes on him."

Jordane's smile was empathetic. Never mind the fact I just told her how my father died and was brought back to life by a mystical dragon. I chuckled. "What?" she asked, the somber atmosphere broken.

"Nothing, I just find it sweet that you only focus on my story about my dad and yet you have not one word to ask or say about the fact a dragon can bring people back to life."

"Oh," Jordane peeped, and then shrugged. "I'm learning to keep my mind more open toward anything, so that everything you have to tell me isn't a total shock. It's funny, I'm a werewolf and yet I've been too strict on my perception of reality. I guess I've spent way too much time in the human world."

"There are no boundaries between what is real and what isn't. That's what makes life so fascinating yet frightening at the same time. We can never know what lurks in the shadows or in lands far off and shrouded from our eyes, or what is ground in stone as possible or impossible."

"And I've forgotten what it's like to live with that frame of mind," Jordane sighed.

"Well, I'm here to wire your brain back to its original settings," I said, snickering.

I continued to sit quietly as Jordane resumed exploring the trinkets and personas of my room. As she did so, an important thought returned to my mind from earlier that day—something I needed to get out in the open before I allowed myself to forget it completely.

"Jordane." My somber tone immediately merited her attention. "Your time here will be pretty simple. I only want to lay down two ground rules, though."

She nodded respectfully. "Name them."

Crossing my arms, I stood up, walking in her direction. I stopped a few feet away. "First. You may be entering the Martial Arts Tournament, but I am teaching you, first and foremost, how to become one with your Saiyan powers; so you can control them, focus them, and be the master of your own strength, rather than just a feeble host. I am not going to teach you anything beyond that; I'm not going to train you to become a warrior like me. I'll only teach you the essentials you need to get by in everyday life." I paused, letting it sink in. When she nodded, I continued with my next and final condition.

"Second… This isn't a vacation or worry-free reprieve. As nice as it's been, being friends, we can't lose sight of the real goal here. I am your trainer, and you are my pupil, and that's a relationship I'd like to maintain as much as possible throughout your stay here."

Nodding again, Jordane crossed her arms as well. "So…that means I can't greet you with a smile on my face, punch you in the arm and say 'Good morning, buddy'?"

I chuckled faintly at her witty question. "In that case, not necessarily." Hesitating, I searched for more words to explain. "I just don't want things to get…complicated." My eyes flickered up from the floor to hers, and the stern expression I gave her conveyed the point I wanted to make.

"Ah," she breathed, nodding. "Okay, got it. It shouldn't be too difficult."

I smiled. "Good. Now that I've given you the general tour of the house, how about we move outside to the barn and pastures?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Jordane beamed happily, and I could barely keep her from running outside to the back of the house and for the barn. All four of our horses were out in pasture, grazing contentedly. I whistled, and Lightning came cantering from the back pasture over to us, approaching us happily and respectfully with head and ears alert. Needless to say, Jordane was utterly jovial to see him again, and he appeared to be just as contented with her presence.

From there, she met Storm and Dusty, at which time, I proposed we go for a ride so I could show her the rest of the territory. I saddled up Lightning and Storm, fastened rope halters on their heads with attached reins, and we were off. Judging by the smile of pure elation on Jordane's face, this time on the back of a horse was a long time coming.

After walking for a good two miles, we emerged into the open valleys, where I kicked Lightning into high gear and burst into a full gallop. When I glanced beside me, Jordane and Storm were already caught up, and she sat firmly in the seat of the heavy saddle as Storm blazed onward.

Gradually applying pressure to Lightning's head by pulling back on the rein, I slowed him to a stop at the head of a hill that overlooked the valley canyon where a herd of Faux unicorns grazed peacefully amongst one another. Jordane's eyes lit up like an eager child on Christmas morning.

"Are those Faux unicorns?" she asked, looking at me.

"Yep. This herd is sanctioned here; we sort of look after it, make sure no one messes with it."

"Are they socialized with people?"

"Generally, yes, but they haven't been trained at all. They're just used to us."

Exhaling deeply, Jordane drank in the fresh air, the smell of horses, and the scape of rolling hills and mountains. Fluffy white clouds sauntered over the cascade tops, creating an all the more calming, serene atmosphere.

For quite a while, we sat down in the grass, watching the herd socialize and graze. Observing nature and her children was always enlightening; the band stallion directed his mare toward a new grazing spot, two young colts engaged in rearing playtime, and two mares quickly settled who would the most luscious grass with gestures of ear-pinning and tail swishes. I had a feeling Jordane would be perfectly content sitting there with me watching the herd for the remaining hours of the day, if we let ourselves.

The noontime sun had descended toward the west mountainside, indicating that early evening was upon us. There was still plenty to explore; too much for me to show Jordane before nightfall, but there would be ample time and opportunity for future exploration.

By the time we reached the house, the world had been painted with an orange, dim overcast with the setting sun. My parents' white car was parked by the garage, and I could smell my mother's cooking from a mile away. The aroma was deliciously potent once inside.

"Jordane!" Mom shrieked gleefully, opening her arms and taking Jordane in for a hug. "This is so exciting! We're so glad you're here!"

"Thank you," Jordane giggled. "Thanks for having me."

"No worries. Now, dinner is a little while away still; did Gohan show you the house?"

"Of course I did, Mother," I informed her lightly.

"Wonderful. Well, then, just go ahead and make yourself comfortable." She gestured for the living room, where Dad and Goten sat on the sofa watching a comedy.

"Good to see you, Jordane!" Dad expressed in a chipper tone, encouraging her to sit. She made her way for the sofa, and I joined her. I could hear her heart pulsing a little deeper than normal; she wasn't entirely comfortable, but neither did she look as if she was ready to crawl out of her skin. Her posture was formal, both feet on the ground and knees touching; she wasn't leaning back into the cushions just yet.

"Hi, Jowrdane," Goten cheeped, hopping over onto my lap to greet her.

"Hey, Goten."

"Awre you wreally staying with us?"

"For a little while, yeah."

"Cool!" The tyke's excited façade dissolved into a thoughtful and confused face. "Will you and Gohan shleep in one bed like Mommy and Daddy?"

Jordane's eyes widened in awkward humor, unsure whether to laugh or stay quiet, and she glanced from Goten's face to mine, which was tight-jawed. Clearing my throat, I chuckled. "No, Goten. Only mommies and daddies share a bed. Jordane will be sleeping in the room upstairs."

"Oh."

When Goten became preoccupied with the TV, I looked over at Jordane and mouthed "Sorry". She grinned and replied with silent words, "It's okay."

Dinner went smoother than I assumed it would; most of it was spent conversing about my mom and dad's martial arts background. Jordane seemed genuinely enthralled with the story, but there were parts I could tell she was listening extra carefully out of courtesy, such as when my mother went on and on about how my father proposed to her in front of hundreds of spectators after their fighting match. The giddiness of the memory reflected like shimmering lights in her eyes, but my father was more subtle in his affectionate glances.

"Yes, love and martial arts can sometimes mix, you know."

I knew my luck was too good for the first night. My fork almost became my victim, but I regained my composure before I bent it with my spontaneous strength. Jordane looked rather unbothered with it; perhaps she didn't catch the slight drift my mother had in her statement.

"All right, guys, let's turn in," Dad announced, yawning, "It's past ten, and we've got an early start tomorrow." After saying goodnight to Goten, he and Mom went down the hall to the back of the house, where their bedroom was located. Jordane didn't mind accompanying me in tucking Goten in for the night. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could catch her smiling as I went through my typical routine of checking Goten's closet and the underside of his bed for monsters.

As the final part of my routine, I flicked on his starry night-light—a light he believed to be a repellent for monsters. "With this light, you are unable to trespass in this room or bother Goten," I called out to the imaginary monsters. "Good night, squirt." I kissed Goten on the head as he wiggled himself into the bed sheets, cuddling up to his favorite teddy bear.

Rejoining Jordane in the hallway, I made my way to my bedroom door. "You're a good brother," she expressed, the admiration clear in her voice and face.

"Thanks. I try. Good night."

"G'night." She trod upstairs for her room, and I happily crawled into my bed, ready for the new adventures that awaited us in the morning.

* * *

><p>"All right, Jordane. First thing we've got to do is get a sense where your general power and skills are. So, what I want you to do first, is give me your hardest punch." Dad opened his palm, arm outstretched, to Jordane. He wanted to get a sense, through one punch, how strong she was. She was wary at first.<p>

"I'm not used to punching my hardest at someone who's actually a nice person," she tittered nervously. Upon Dad encouraging her, though, she took her stance; feet spread far apart, back and shoulders straight. She stood immobile like this for a few moments until finally shifting, and she threw her closed fist into my father's palm. The end result actually left me slightly stunned. The muscles in my father's arm flexed and yielded to the force of Jordane's punch; his arm didn't bend, but the very fact he had to put effort to keep his limb unmoving from a single punch was quite something.

An enthusiastic smile unraveled on his face as he looked at Jordane's fist in his hand, then to her eyes. "You've got some pretty good force there."

"Really? Thanks."

"Yeah, you'll catch on fast; you won't have any problem."

"Before we start, I want to see just what it is I'm working toward. I mean, I've seen the power you guys have on video, but I'd like to see it in person."

"Well, sure! Gohan and I can spar for you."

Jordane sat on a fallen log, watching Dad and I with intent eyes. He and I smiled at one another, and in the next second, we were engaged in a simple sparring match. A few fisticuffs, leg jabs, and dodges. It only lasted a couple minutes, and we were hardly out of breath. Jordane, however, gawped at us, speechless.

"And that was just a walk down the block," I said, laughing. We went again, this time as if we were in a customary sparring match. Faster blows, even some levitating and other various air maneuvers. It was a cyclone of effortless movements for us, but by the time we were done, once again, Jordane gaped in astonishment.

"_That's_ the kind of skill I could harness?" she asked quietly.

"Absolutely!" Dad answered, encouraging. He wanted her to succeed as much as I did.

Slowly, an energized grin replaced Jordane's bizarre gape, the tips of her incisors a bit pointed to accentuate the expression. "That is wicked." I shared a smirk with my father. "Well, then, let's get started!" Jordane leapt from her seat with a renewed spring in her step.

We couldn't cover any martial arts yet. First, I needed to teach her how to collect, cast, and use her energy. My father sparred and practiced on his own, warming up his body for more intense training, while I took Jordane a ways off near the mouth of the creek. Sitting in the cool grass under the shade of a full tree, I explained what I had already briefed her, this time on a more intimate and detailed level.

Keeping my hands open and at ease in my lap, I demonstrated how to summon just a small source of that energy and outwardly exert it, but not in the form of an aura as she'd already seen. The electrifying sensation spread like wildfire through the core of my body and to the tips of my fingers; in the bubble of my hands, a miniscule collection of energy materialized.

Jordane stared at it in wonder and determination. I'd already explained to her the steps to be executed for this exercise; now it was up to her to bring an end result. In being part Saiyan, I didn't expect her to have any difficulties.

After a prolonged period, she proved my presumptions right when she produced her own beacon of energy in the palms of her hands. She grinned at me, and I simply smiled back.

"Dad's right. You'll do just fine."

* * *

><p>Jordane's progress only continued to grow considerably in a short period of two days. She could summon and expel energy blasts with ease, much to her ecstatic delight. The next step in her training: flying. Since she was still nervous, I suggested a little free ride.<p>

"Come on, hop on," I said, kneeling down so she could climb on my back. She hesitated a moment, but approached me and with awkward, stiff movements she wrapped her arms around my collar, and upon feeling her body against my back I lifted to my feet. Almost instinctively, her legs tried to wrap around my waist, and I helped her by reaching back for them, holding her by the underside of her knees. Even being securely wrapped around me, she was tense. Somehow, I knew it wasn't only because I was about to take her thousands of feet into the air.

I chased her closeness out of my thoughts and took off, laughing softly when I heard her squeak and she clutched me tighter. I stopped climbing at roughly a thousand feet, giving her time to adjust.

"Hoooly crap," she breathed upon looking around. I snickered.

"Better get used to it," I told her, "Because we're going to kick into high gear."

"No, wait—" But I was already booking it down the canyons, at a hearty fifty miles an hour. I suppose that wasn't necessarily "high gear"; nah, that would be far too fast to start.

Though her arms remained firmly locked around me, I could feel her abdomen loosen, and she regulated her breathing. By the slight shifts of her head, it was easy to assume she was comfortable enough to watch what scenery she could catch as it zoomed by.

Stopping at the height of the canyon, I positioned myself upright in the air. The view we had from this vantage point was one of my favorites; the mountain peaks of Poaz rose and fell into winding canyons, where the sun inched slowly closer to the horizon. Even with a few stray clouds, the sky was streaked with orange and purple and pink.

I heard Jordane utter a captivated sigh against my ear. A hardly intentional gesture, but it still sent a chill throughout my body.

"Beautiful, huh?" I asked, clearing my throat. All she did was utter another exhale, filled with wonder. I'd take that as an agreement. "Here is yet another advantage of being able to fly. You get to see the world from a once-in-a-lifetime point of view."

For a prolonged, leisurely time, we stayed hovering above the mountains, watching the sun creep lower and lower behind the peaks. We had nowhere to be, so we weren't in any hurry to return home, even once darkness fully cloaked the skies.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the long wait! These intervals between chapters have been too long! My computer crashed last month, and my trusty computer guy/family friend was out on vacation so I had to wait 2 weeks for him to get back and another week for him to take my computer and fix it… And in the middle of all this, my grandfather, who's been very ill, passed away. So I haven't exactly been in tip-top shape/inspiration mode for writing. I just finally got finished with this chapter and posted it so I could at least have ONE update! **

**Yep, there's more of that double-edged, angsty indecision in Gohan's conscience… The whole "voice" in his head that tells him to "get over" his doubt is a delicate line I'm going for, and there will be more of it as the story goes on…I've read many great fanfics in which Gohan's Super Saiyan 2 self is a sort of separate identity than his normal self, and though I've always felt this in my own universe, I've decided to make it a focus/detail in the plot. But it's also confusing (even for myself), because SS2 Gohan is NOT a separate identity from normal Gohan, but rather Gohan himself made it like that in his mind, but I don't want to spoil the whole thing when I'm working so hard to make it unfold/build up in the story…so I'll shut up now haha. **

**And holy crap, I can't believe this story is already 230 pages O_O The number itself doesn't throw me off—I've written stories in the 500 page range—but I mean we're only 26 chapters in, just about a quarter of the story, barely, and there's still a long ways to go! Oh boy…**

**Anyways, a huge thanks to those who've been reading this story and sticking with it throughout its long and drawn-out plot! Leave me some feedback, it always amps up my motivation! :3**

**- J**

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	27. 26: Soar

**26. Soar**

**May**

**_Jordane_**

_I can't believe this, I can't believe I'm doing this! _the little voice in my head chanted elatedly as I held myself at a modest hover just above the trees. Surprisingly calm, I looked to gather my surroundings, and cautiously willed myself to move in the air a few feet to the right. I couldn't believe how easy it was; I began to cut through the air at a faster pace, in circles.

"Don't go too fast, Jordane," Gohan cautioned me from down on the ground.

"I'm good!" I called back, without any wavering in confidence.

Taking an abrupt turn too quick and too sharp, my energy somehow sputtered on me and gravity sent me hurling for the ground. It happened so suddenly, I didn't even have time to scream. Instead of hitting the solid earth, I fell into a yielding, protective barrier. Gohan's arms held me easily, one hand placed perfectly under my knee and the other bracing against my back just under my armpit. I wondered if he had experience in catching girls, or if there was some other bizarre reason as to what made me seem to fit so proportionately in his arms.

Unaware I'd been gawking at him with a blank stare, my previous speculations were interrupted when he cleared his throat, and gently shifted to put me back on my own feet. After that swift and abrupt drop, to feel solid ground beneath my feet was a little disorienting.

"Next time I tell you to take it easy," he began lightly, and I could swear his cheeks were a little pinker than they'd been before, "…take my word for it and do as I say. I'm your trainer for a reason, you know." He smiled at me awkwardly, and I nodded.

For the rest of the afternoon, Gohan was up in the air with me, showing me how to maneuver in quick and efficient ways without stunting my energy. The smooth, effortless fashion in how he moved himself was distracting me as much as it drove me to mimic him. It looked as if it merited no effort more than it would take for him to walk.

He was never too far as I tested my flying ability, maneuvering around trees, rising up and descending down at steep inclines, and even multi-tasking by exerting energy while in flight.

We didn't stop until the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and stars had appeared in the sky. I would have been perfectly happy just lying in the cool grass and stargazing, but a cleansing shower beckoned me just as much. To pass the time while Gohan took his shower, I further arranged the room I'd been sleeping in and readied my toiletries to partake in my nightly hygiene routine.

Downstairs, I heard the shower stop running. Grabbing my pajamas and toiletries bag, I went trotting down the stairs. At the abrupt corner where I would turn right for the bathroom, I nearly collided with Gohan as he came out. To be more specific, my face nearly bumped right smack in the middle of his naked chest. His arms were raised to the towel he had draped over his head.

"Hey," he chuckled—a light, timid sound I hadn't heard from him before. We both muttered "Sorry" in unison, and smiling, Gohan made his way around me. It took a great deal of effort for me not to follow him with my eyes.

"Good night," he said, and I whirled around to face him. My eyes landed on his torso for just a split second before I redirected them to his face.

"Good night." I smiled back at him, and with that, he turned for his bedroom door, and my eyes fell to his hips, where his pajamas hung loosely around his half-naked waist. I let out a quiet huff, my cheeks a little warmer than they were a minute ago. Shaking my head, I slipped into the spacious, clean bathroom, the steam and condensation from Gohan's shower still lingering.

After washing off the sweat and dirt from a busy day's work, I felt remarkably lighter, like I shed five layers of excess skin. I returned to my bedroom and plopped down onto the bed with a loud, contended sigh. Clean sheets and blankets added to the cozy cleanliness of my being.

As I promised my mom, I called her to say good night as I did the nights before. Having a charade to uphold, I couldn't be completely honest with her, and it was strange. Sure, little white lies weren't uncommon, but I'd never told or kept up with such an elaborate lie as this—telling her I was doing one thing and going one place when I in fact was doing something completely different someplace else. Whenever she asked me about the experiences she thought I was having, and I had to make up filler to satisfy her curiosity, I felt a twinge of guilt in the back of my mind.

After hanging up the phone with Mom, I signed on to Skype to talk with the girls back at home. They all greeted me with hollers and remarks of affection, but much to my disappointment, there was one face missing.

"Where's Amanda?" I asked, unable to keep the question to myself.

"Home," Sara said with a light frown. "She hasn't been hanging out with us very much lately. Actually, she hasn't been herself much at all since you left."

_Great._ Sighing, I ran my hand through my hair. I made a mental note to myself not to forget to call her tomorrow, and tried to enjoy my conversation with the others. For a good half-hour, I shared some new songs I managed to write recently, and Sara strung out some new melodies she concocted.

Sometime in the middle of this conversation, I heard the door to my room open with a gentle _whoosh_. Upon glancing off to the side, I saw a full head of spikey black hair on a little body poking in behind the door. Smiling, I told the girls to hold on.

"What are you doing here, little guy?"

Goten popped his head from behind the wood completely, his black eyes containing nothing but sheer innocence. Instead of answering my question, those eyes went to my laptop. "What you doing?" he asked curiously, standing there expectantly, waiting for permission. I waved my hand for him to join me on the bed.

"Guys," I began, scooting over so Goten was in view of the webcam. "This is Goten. He's the little brother of the guy who's training me." As soon as his face was on camera, the girls all "awed" and flattered the little kid with various kid-oriented compliments about his cuteness. Sara and Ashlyn, especially.

For being a girl who preferred to have nothing to do with kids, I couldn't deny Goten's complete and utter adorability as he carried on a conversation with the girls, using toddler gibberish. He earned a more than fair share of giggles.

Looking at the time, I had to cut Goten's social time short. "Come on, kiddo. It's past your bedtime." He puckered his lower lip in an innocent pout, but I didn't take it. "Do I need to get your mom and tell her you're still up?" That did the trick; his eyes widened and he shook his head fervently. He said good night to the girls, and I gave him a little head ruffle as he went on his way.

* * *

><p>I'd never been much of a morning person, so the first few days I spent at Gohan's house, it was difficult being woken up at the crack of dawn and go straight to training. Once the first week went by, however, I had adapted to my new early schedule. This morning, though, despite waking to my alarm, I noticed the Son house didn't have its usual buzzing atmosphere.<p>

"We're not training today?" I asked Gohan as he came out of his bedroom, dressed in T-shirt and jeans; not his typical wardrobe for training.

"Nope. We're taking the day off," he said in a chipper tone.

"Oh. Okay, then." I couldn't complain. Though training had been eventful and utterly fun, it was nice to be able to take some down time. Gohan seemed to look forward to it as well, for no sooner did we finish breakfast, he had me hustling out the door and we were driving into town.

"Do you mind telling me where we're going?" I asked with a quiet laugh. Dark clouds accumulated above us; it would probably rain soon. Though I looked forward to that, I didn't know where Gohan would want to go in the city during a rainstorm.

"You'll see," was all he told me, a light smile at the corner of his mouth.

By the time we turned into a strip mall just outside the city, heavy beads of water descended at a rapid rate, covering the world in a blanket of gray. Gohan parked the car close to a building; the whole parking lot wasn't too occupied. I didn't ask questions, I just jogged beside him as we broke from the car to the protective overhang of the nearest building. This city had its fair share of rain, but it was at such random and inconsistent intervals in comparison to Washington, so I jogged slowly to enjoy the cold water on my skin. I was glad I chose not to wear a hoodie.

Holding the door open, Gohan waited for me to enter the foyer of whatever store we chose before going in himself. He lightly shook his hair of whatever wetness had accumulated, while I just let the water sit on my damp scalp. There was another set of heavy wooden doors in front of me, but upon catching the light scent of paper and ink, and the robust aroma of coffee and espresso, I realized just where we were. Sure enough, going through those double-doors, I emerged into an open space, shelves scattered in every direction, filled to the inch with books.

"I remember you said how you'd spend rainy days at the bookstore with your grandparents," Gohan said behind me. His voice was already so soft and gentle, he didn't need to put extra effort in being quiet to maintain the delicate atmosphere of the place. "I know it's not quite the same, being your grandparents aren't here, but I figure this could be a nice place to be, if we're to be stuck inside due to rain." He shrugged with one shoulder as if it wasn't a big deal, but cozy warmth radiated from the core of my body that he thought to do this. The only thing I could think to do was just smile in appreciation.

I wandered through the store, Gohan following me patiently at my heels. With the money from my last paycheck, plus the spending money Mom gave me for the "trip", I had every intention on buying more books. If there was one thing I loved to spend money on besides art supplies, it's books.

The size of the store—or rather, its quantity and selection—left me baffled. There was so many books, I didn't know what to do with myself other than just pick out a few at a time and sit myself down to skim through them. To my delight, Gohan did the same.

I found a large book filled with an artist's collection of comics, and right from the first page, I was struggling to keep my laughter down. Gohan and I sat in the lounging area in the back of the store where it was less populated, and skimmed through the book together, giggling and snickering at the hilarious comics.

The rain seemed to last forever. I even heard thunder growling in the distance, which only added to the cozy, safe atmosphere of the walls I was confined in. At one point, Gohan left for the café to get us each a cup of hot cocoa. Our afternoon hangout was truly complete then.

I stole a glance at him as he investigated the pages of a non-fictional book, idly sipping at his hot cocoa and reading the text. He appeared perfectly content, and I was glad for that. I was glad for all of this, but for some reason, "thank you" just seemed inadequate. I appreciated it all more than words could describe.

"What?" he asked when I was too lazy to avoid his eyes. I shook my head.

"Nothing, it's just… This is really nice. I've actually been feeling a little homesick—not just home down the mountain, but home in Washington—and this has helped ease that."

For a few minutes, Gohan looked at me, a smile absent from his face. No, actually, he was smiling; the smile was in his eyes. "Something I've learned," he began, his eyes leaving me and returning for the text in front of him, "Is that life isn't about the destination, but the journey; especially those little pit stops in-between."

Smiling, I tilted my eyes back for the book I had in front of me. "How true that is."

* * *

><p>Despite the progress I'd made this past week, the staggering height which I stood on the cliff phase was a little disorienting, but it didn't churn my stomach the way being so high normally would. I must have been up fifteen, twenty-thousand feet? There wasn't a way to tell; I just knew I was up on top of the world, judging how I couldn't even see the bottom of the canyon. Clouds hovered below me, the air was thicker and denser, and the wind was a steady current.<p>

Gohan and Goku stood a few feet to my left, looking at me patiently as I struggled to muster the grit to walk off the ledge. Goku smiled at me, faithfully and encouragingly, and Gohan just seemed to analyze my expression with his eyes, his face vacant of any apparent emotion.

The survival instincts that I've run with up to this point were screaming at me to walk away, that all I would do was fall, and death would be the only outcome of this daredevil stunt. The renewed frame of mind I'd developed, with the awareness of my new airborne skills, whispered, _You can do this._ It was a small voice, but the confidence in it was enough to wane my fear.

Gathering the energy inside me, I let it radiate outward, and I took that step off the cliff. I only fell into nothingness for mere seconds; with a surge of empowerment, I was weightless and levitated in midair, cruising through the clouds as easily as swimming through calm waters.

Smiling, I kicked out of my idle gear and traveled through the air at a decent speed, looking up, around, and down at the atmosphere. There was no disorientation or fear now; I was in awe.

A mass occurred in my peripheral; it was Gohan, effortlessly keeping up with my pace. He glanced at me with a smile, and then gazed ahead. He wasn't joining in this voyage to keep an eye on me, I realized. He was accompanying me just because he wanted to.

Side by side, we weaved and surfed through the air, dipping and rising around clouds and high mountain peaks. A few large birds of prey passed us by without a care in the world, and the herds of animals on the valley floor were like ants. The city skyscrapers were shimmering blocks in the grand distance.

I felt something poke at my shoulder, and looking up, Gohan was above me, smirking playfully. In trying to return the favor, I didn't succeed, for he maneuvered lithely from my reach. I heard him laugh through the breeze. I sped up to him and my hand made contact with the back of his head, ruffling his hair in a light slap. I was the one laughing then, giggling with high squeals as we played a game of sky-tag.

Wind gusting in my face, pure oxygen filling my lungs, a breathtaking view of the world… I couldn't believe I lived the first sixteen years of my life without this, without knowing this sheer liberating, unrestrained freedom.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gah I know, it's an awfully short chapter for as long as the wait's been… I didn't realize how short it was until I proof-read it before posting… Sorry! I've been dealing with a lot of things in personal life as of late and any writing I've been doing has mostly been my original stuff. **

**Speaking of which…if you guys enjoy my writing style and are curious to check out any of my original works, you can check out my FictionPress account. The link is in my Bio profile here, along with the link to my deviantART page, where you can check out some of my (amateur) photography, and my artwork (you'll get to see how I envision my characters!) There isn't a whole lot there, but if you guys want to check it out, take a gander :)**

**- J**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	28. 27: Insinuations

**27. Insinuations**

**_Gohan_**

After Jordane's successful flying lessons, the next step of her training was to teach her to harness her basic skills; starting with balance and control of her body in tense, awkward situations. For that, we moved down river, where my father and I had a makeshift crossing point made of large wooden posts erect from the river bed. Each log was large enough for one to plant both feet on, if they squeezed into themselves and knew how to make themselves small. This also doubled as a training tool.

Jordane got in position on the third post, just ten feet away from my father on the shore. I stood on the other side, relaxing. Dad would be engaging in this exercise with her, testing her ability to move and control her own bubble by popping it, so to speak, with his favorite—and only—martial arts tool.

"Whoa. Where'd you get that thing?" Jordane asked excitedly when my father gave the command for his combat staff to extend in length, without any manual influence. It was a rather blessed and magical tool of martial arts that I only ever had the privilege of using a couple times in my young life.

"It's an old family heirloom," Dad answered her. "My grandpa gave it to me."

"Are there any more like it?"

"I haven't found any."

"Darn it," Jordane snipped, but then regained her focus on the task at hand. She was tense and struggling to get her balance steady on the soles of her feet, but I could see even from an angle that she wasn't nervous; she had an intensity in her eyes I remembered seeing quite a few times before.

With my father's training pole extended to an impressive twenty feet, it offered a sturdy obstacle as he swung it slowly toward Jordane's head, giving her ample time to avoid it and getting a feel of how she could maneuver herself on such a small platform. She wavered a little, but managed to salvage her balance.

The more she moved and avoided being smacked by the pole, the more her control improved. In fact, it was all rather impressive, with this being her first time being trained formally.

"You've got some good movement, Jordane," Dad praised, after Jordane leapt upward from the post to avoid the pole and landed smoothly back on both feet, her back moderately straight and aligned with her shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You sure you haven't had any formal training of any kind? You've got pretty decent form for a girl who's only been involved with mixed martial arts and kick-boxing."

Jordane's response was a little delayed, and my eyes returned to her face. "Well," she drawled, "I wasn't in any formal martial arts training, but I guess some of the other things I was involved in as a kid can sort of have a hand in it."

"What kind of things?" I asked, trying not to let my amusement too evident. Judging by the tic in her cheek, it was something embarrassing. I waited patiently.

"Things like…um, ballet, ice skating, gymnastics…"

My brows shot up. "Really?"

"It wasn't my choice," she quickly clarified. "My mom and grandmother put me in all that crap; they finally stopped after I quit gymnastics in sixth grade."

"What about ice skating? I'd think that would be fun."

"The ice-skating part was fun," Jordane said, twisting and weaving away from the pole. "The stuck-up girls and their egotistical, shallow mothers and coaches weren't fun. It was the same thing with gymnastics. I liked the athleticism, but couldn't stand the other girls, and oh God, the outfits!"

Smiling, I continued watching her, thoroughly amused. "What about ballet?"

"What do you think? I appreciate the art of dance, but I didn't like being forced into something as girlie as ballet. I was a tomboy even then. Those sorts of classes were for little girls who wanted to grow up and be proper ladies…" She dodged the pole again, jumping over it as it sailed under her feet. "…And I did not want to be a lady." Dad laughed at that.

I had to agree with Jordane on that. I couldn't imagine her being a part of ballet; one of the reasons to why that was manifested as an image in my head, and I nearly lost my composure. "Jordane?"

"Yeah?" she grunted, doing an impressive back-flip to the post behind her to avoid being hit by the pole. I could see some of the gymnastics she learned showing through.

"Tell me. When you were in ballet, did the classes come complete with a glittery tiara and a pink tutu?" I couldn't help it; a snort of a laugh escaped my lips with my question. Jordane stiffened, and her body swiftly turned toward me, her hand rising; I could see all her fingers folding except for the middle, but before she could flip me the bird, Dad took advantage of her blind distraction and slapped the pole across her feet. Knocked off-balance, she fell into the water with a small yell.

Laughing, I stood up and followed her in the short distance the gentle current carried her; she hung on to a thick root protruding out of the steep shore wall. The way she glared at me, it was so juvenile yet funny, all I could do was just grin at her as I knelt down and offered my hand. She took it, but I was too caught up in my own amusement to brace against the trick she had up her sleeve, and she grasped me with both hands, hauling me into the water with her.

The muffled gurgling of water in my ears only lasted a moment until I resurfaced, glaring at her with the same expression she was just giving me seconds ago. Only now, she was giggling, a mischievous edge to her grin. I just splashed at her, and she returned the favor.

After that little playful blunder, training resumed, and just as with everything else so far, she caught on quickly. With each round, she appeared to be having more fun with it all.

By the time it was late afternoon and the sun had begun to lean toward the horizon, Dad decided to call it a day. It was far too beautiful and warm outside still to head indoors. We briefly returned to the house to pick up our swimsuits. Fish sounded pretty good for dinner tonight, and Dad and I wanted to show Jordane how fishing was done in our neck of the woods.

Dad went after the fish; I took Jordane to the top of the waterfall at the north mouth of the river. It was a good fifty foot drop, but she didn't seem to be as intimidated by it as she would have been two weeks ago. In fact, nobody could stop us from racing each other off the edge, letting out hollers and whoops of exhilaration on the way down.

Surfacing, I found Jordane already above water, laughing in amazement and pure thrill. "That was awesome!"

"See, heights aren't so bad," I said as we swam for the shore. I stayed in the water, but Jordane lifted herself onto the low ground, sitting on the edge. It was all too easy; I realized how it was all too easy for my eyes to plant themselves on her skin left bare from her bikini top and shorts. I directed my eyes forward, downriver, in hopes I wouldn't give in to my curious instinct.

I didn't know why I was so flustered being around her in a bathing suit, of all things. I had three pack sisters, all whom I've seen half naked in bathing suits or underwear, and I had learned not to mind.

Putting in extra effort not to notice her in any way was becoming too much of a hassle.

I finally lost the battle, but instead of her legs, stomach, or chest, my eyes immediately honed in on an oddity going down her waist; an abnormality in her skin. Curiosity getting the better of me, I lingered on the Y-shaped discoloration that actually appeared to be a scar. One leg of the Y extended from under her shoulder blade, and the other just barely over her ribcage. The entire scar itself reached from her ribcage to her hip. I had seen my fair share of scars, but this one looked especially nasty on her petite, pale body.

"Where'd that come from?" I would of asked for her forgiveness at the bluntness of my question, but this far along, I wasn't as delicate with my words.

Brows raised, Jordane looked where my eyes rested. "Oh," she said in a blasé, uncaring tone. "That's from an old headache."

"Must have been one hell of a headache," I mumbled. Our eyes met, and then I could see she made the decision to elaborate. Dad was further downriver, where all the larger fish congregated, so it was just the two of us now. Jordane sighed softly, playing with her hair and draping it behind her.

"The 'headache' was a guy named Glen. He's a werewolf, and he very much reminds me of Chase, actually. Except he doesn't go around killing girls; he just chases after them and makes them submit to him whether they want it or not. He's always been like that, even in junior high."

At this point, I knew this was going to be far from a pleasant story.

"You know how people pay no attention to you at first, but then you hit puberty and start to grow up, then you start getting noticed, and maybe even pursued?"

I smirked. "I have a pretty good idea."

"Well, Glen was one of those people. He just picked on me and bullied me for the most part for the first few years. I tried to fend him off, but I wasn't as…shall I say, hands-on, with my approaches as I am today. I don't think he knew if he was entertained or pissed off that a little girl could stand up to him.

"On one full moon, I went out for a run by myself; my Mom didn't like me turning by myself, but I had to have my monthly outing if I couldn't have it every other week, so I snuck out. I didn't know Glen was following me to the place where I always turned, and he ambushed me there. I think all he wanted to do was beat me up, teach me a lesson. I may have taken karate when I was a kid, but I wasn't quite a fighter yet, so I was just operating on pure instinct and adrenaline alone. When he had me on my stomach, holding me by my torso, I put all the power I could into my legs to haul myself out from under him. I succeeded, but one of his hands didn't let up, and that's how I ended up with this little…souvenir, from his claws."

I didn't know what to say or do, so I just stared at her, yet looking beyond her, fishing for my own conclusions to the story she just told me. "I guess it makes sense, then," I murmured, before I even realized just what I said.

"What makes sense?"

Flustered, I tried to recover my words—preferably in a way that wasn't insensitive. "How you act sometimes—or rather, how you acted around me when we first met, and why you're so haughty towards guys in general."

"Yeah, maybe. I know all guys aren't pricks, but so far, that's been a majority of those I have experienced so far," she added humorously. "That was how I got into mixed martial arts. After that, I hated feeling unprepared and vulnerable. I needed to be as mentally prepared as I could be physically to defend myself if I needed to. And…here I am."

In my mind, this Glen didn't have a face; I had no description of him, but that didn't stop me from feeling a simmering bitterness in my gut toward him. I wished I could give him a piece of my mind, but I knew Jordane wouldn't appreciate me butting in to her battles.

"How old were you?" The question was as sudden in my head as it was coming from my mouth. I remembered her mentioning during our…"date" that she'd had "guy troubles" in Washington for a while. I wondered just how long.

"I was thirteen, and Glen was fourteen—going on fifteen," she said as a matter-of-factly. Her answer unsettled me even more. "Even after I learned how to defend myself, I didn't go after him seeking payback. I just waited for him to try it again, which I knew he would. The fact I refused him only encouraged him. And when he came after me again…I was ready for him. I beat him enough to wind him and then I left for home. He only ever tried to ambush me a couple more times after that before he finally gave up for a while."

"Why do I feel there's a 'but' coming?" My eyes were fixated on her, intently studying her face that appeared vacant.

"But…when I found out I was moving, I…I baited him to one last brawl to blow off some steam. Little did I know he intended on bringing his pack of five buddies along for the 'party'. I held my own for the first portion of the fight, but I got tired fast. I wasn't used to dealing with so many enemies at once. They eventually outwitted and overpowered me, and I found myself pinned to the ground, with Glen right on top of me." Shifting, Jordane blinked, as if contemplating to tell me the rest.

"By the…sick way he looked at me and groped me, I knew what he had in mind for me. He'd always been a perverted asshole, but we were older; I think he had grown rather 'fond' of me in a certain light since I have breasts and curves now. I felt idiotic for putting myself in that situation, when I should have been smarter than to walk right into his hands."

The way this story was going left me tightly wound; I was expecting the worst, and no longer sure if I wanted to hear it. Surprised I was able to move my mouth, I managed to ask through gritted teeth, "Did he…"

As if realizing just where she left off on her story and what it insinuated to me, she was quick to fill in the gap. "Oh, god no, no he didn't get to…"

"How close was he?" I didn't care to watch the demanding protectiveness of my tone.

"Not very." I was about to push her to be honest, but she already was. Modestly honest, but honest, nonetheless. She finally looked at me, and I couldn't blame her for looking rather flustered at my reaction. My face was stuck at a scowl, my gut tight and hot. I'd never met this Glen, but already I detested him. What he did to Jordane…it was no different than if someone attacked one of my pack sisters.

There was nothing I could do about it, though. It was out of my hands, and not my battle to fight. Sighing, I lifted myself out of the water and sat right beside Jordane. The two inches of empty space between our bare arms was all too conspicuous to my awareness.

"Don't go there," she snapped.

"Go where?"

"To that frame of mind I see you going to—the looking at me as a girl who was almost raped. Even if it was clear what Glen's intentions were, I don't see that whole scuffle as me almost 'getting raped'. I just got the ass kicked out of me, but I'm not a victim."

"I know you're not," I quietly affirmed. She was far from being a victim in my eyes, even with this new revelation of her recent past. It gave clarification to her character, why she was so strong, and why she was so thick-headed. I smiled, but only briefly. "Well, as much as I would personally like to give that Glen what he deserves, I know you don't need anyone fighting your battles for you. But could you do me a favor?"

She looked at me, a smile returning to her face. "Sure."

"I don't know if you will ever cross paths again, but if the time ever comes where he dares to touch you again..." I could feel my own eyes intensify in my skull, though the rest of my face remained stagnant as I gazed at her. "…you do everything can to ruin him."

Neither of us blinked for a long minute. I suppose maybe Jordane was trying to grasp the concept of what I asked of her. She was the first to blink, and with that, her mouth pulled up in the corner. "He'll get what's coming to him," she assured me with confidence.

I believed he would, either by my hand or Jordane's.

Something was needed to lighten the mood. My eyes fell upon an extended crevice of the waterfall cliff-face, and I suddenly remembered a special little place hidden behind the walls of stone.

"Come on," I beckoned, slipping back into the water that felt lukewarm to me after being wet and exposed to the evening breeze. Jordane gave me a questioning look. "I've got something to show you."

Back in the water, we dove as soon as we reach the cliff phase of the waterfall, and just where it's always been, I found the moderate-sized opening thirty feet down at the river's sandy bed. Jordane followed closely beside me as we trekked through the dark tunnel that would have been pitch black to human eyes, but was merely dim to ours.

It'd been a while since I was last here, but it wasn't too difficult to find the outlet. Choosing the tunnel outlet directly in front of us, we swam through until we broke the surface of the water and found air. I gazed directly above me, and found the treasures I wanted to see still here.

"Whoa—" What merited Jordane's gasp were tiny speckles in the cavern walls that shimmered and reflected off the surface of the water. When it should normally be black as night inside a cavern like this, it was illuminated with a purple and blue essence. "What are these?"

"They're bio-luminescent crystals." They were everywhere the eyes could see; from right below the water's surface up the cave walls and to the forty-foot ceiling.

I wasn't too surprised when she couldn't find anything to say, only able gawk in awe of the spectacle before her. Call it an obvious hunch, but I just knew she would love this place. She would be the first person I'd brought here; when this came to my comprehension, it puzzled me a little.

Swimming close to the wall, I skimmed through the selection of crystals within my reach, interlaced with the dark stone of the cave. Finding a good chunk of the shimmering substance, I grew my claws to a good half-inch and began to pick at the cave wall. Werewolf claws were resilient and tough; they could cut through just about anything, even stone and other solid minerals.

I dug through the wall just enough until the chunk of crystal naturally fell out of its nest and dropped into my palm. "Here," I said, offering it to Jordane.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Have a little souvenir." The cut of crystal I gave her was no bigger than a golf ball, but it was still a gorgeous treasure to behold. When I met her eyes, she smiled, the light from the crystal bouncing off her eyes.

"Thanks," she said in a soft, small voice.

"Don't mention it." We shared another smile and then went back under, making our way back to the open world. I was confident we would return to this place again soon.

The positive mood followed us to dinner that night, which was filled with light conversation and even some laughs. Mom and Dad had endless stories to tell, and Jordane took them in with wholehearted enjoyment.

It was my turn to help Mom with the dishes afterword. Dad and Jordane relaxed in the living room watching TV. Well, Goten actually began to color yet somehow bouncing his focus back and forth between his coloring book and the TV.

"Jordane, color with me," he requested. Turning my head, I looked to see Jordane get on the floor with Goten by the coffee table. She picked up a crayon and colored where Goten told her to, all doing so with a smile. Every now and then, he'd ask her what he should color a certain object, and she would guide him through the process.

After the dishes were done, Mom and I joined the rest of our family in the living room. She took her place beside Dad on the sofa, and I sat across the coffee table from Jordane and Goten, leisurely drinking a glass of water and watching them color together.

"Jordane," my mother's voice was as sweet as if dipped in honey, "You sure are good with children."

The statement caught Jordane off guard as much as it did me. "Oh, thanks," she tittered. "To be honest, I'm not really that good with kids, but Goten here is just as much of an angel as they come, so…"

My mother giggled; a familiar, alarming sound that caused my spine to tighten. "Trust me, once you get older, you'll develop that maternal instinct that will make it very easy for you to get along with children, especially once you have your own."

A strange, contorted chuckle came from Jordane, who bowed her head so she could awkwardly scratch her scalp without lifting her elbow from the table. "Maybe. I really can't see myself having kids of my own, though, to be honest." With that, Mother's eyes widened, her brows shooting up.

"Why in the world not?" The question was more pleading than scolding in nature, but there was still a sense of disapproval lingering in her stare.

Jordane shrugged, almost befuddled. I couldn't blame her if she was; I was sure it's not every day someone made such a fuss over her choice in any future offspring she would or would not have. "I just…can't. It's hard to explain. Pregnancy itself isn't really that appealing to me, and I just don't see myself ever having the patience or time to raise a kid."

"Just give it time," my mother urged. "You are still young, I suppose. Your view of children and family will change as you mature. Finding a good man to be your husband and a potential father of your children always helps, too." Before I could even prepare myself for the gesture, my mother's eyes snapped to mine, holding them briefly before returning to Jordane. I glared back at her from under the glass I held.

"You do intend to at least get married sometime in your life, don't you." Somehow, this didn't sound to be anything near a question; more like an assumption disguised in the format of an inquiry.

Jordane had stopped coloring with Goten, now looking completely uncomfortable and almost picked on. I felt her pain; at this point, I was exceptionally unnerved as to where this one-sided conversation was going. "I don't know about that, either," she admitted sheepishly. "I suppose, if the right guy ever comes along, then sure, but it's not really something I see myself focusing on anytime soon."

I dared to glance at my mother to see her reaction. She appeared stunned. My father, on the other hand, was totally oblivious of the discussion; either that, or he was trying to ignore it, because he knew he couldn't bail poor Jordane out of it.

"My, goodness, Jordane, what are your priorities in life, then, if not to find a man to share your life with?"

"School, a career in art or animals, figuring out what I'm going to do with my life in general … Lots of things are on my list."

Mom looked absolutely perplexed by Jordane's answer, and I wished I could let myself laugh. Being very old-fashioned—and almost medieval, in my opinion—to hear a girl of any age talk of greater priorities than finding a husband and making a family was something new to my mother. After all, she and my father were married when they were in their late teens; it was her life-long obsession to marry him and settle down and start a family from a very young age, and I suppose she expected other girls to relate to her in that same sense. From what I've seen, many did, but Jordane certainly wasn't one of those girls.

I drank in my mother's speechlessness for the golden seconds it lasted before she shook it off.

"Well," she sighed, the disappointment apparent in her breath. "Just as with children, give yourself time. You may find that 'right guy' in the last place you'd expect him. Perhaps he would have been in front of you the entire time, and you never realized it."

The water glass I had intended to drink from froze on the tip of my lips, and by the time I was glaring at my mother, her eyes were already on me, that sly smile of hers returning.

"Yeah, maybe," Jordane said nonchalantly, as if she was merely agreeing to get my mother to shut up about the subject. Unfortunately for her—and me—my mother didn't drop such a focus so easily.

"I don't think a beautiful girl like you should have any trouble getting her man. Don't you think so, Gohan?"

That delayed sip of water I'd hoped to enjoy caught in the back of my throat. I coughed a little to prevent from choking. "Sure," I agreed, clearing my throat.

"You know, I bet you'd make one of the most beautiful brides on the face of the earth," Mom continued, much to my disdain. "Any man who'd be lucky enough to find himself at the end of that aisle would surely die from how much of a vision you'd be, I'm sure."

Jordane bowed her head once more, just enough to make a few tresses of hair fall in front of her face.

"And I certainly hope we'd be there to see it, you know. I want you to know ahead of time, it would be such an honor if we could be present to see you at such a momentous occasion," Mom gushed, her eyes wide and sparkling now. "I'm sure Gohan would be especially jubilant to be there—"

I slammed the glass I'd been holding on the coffee table, the sound ringing out unpleasantly and stopping all conversation. A small crack materialized at the lip of the crystal glass. I'd had enough. As to what Jordane did with her life and her future, I didn't have to concern myself with, but I couldn't help my temper when it was blatantly obvious that my mother was off-handedly trying to put _me_ at the other end of that aisle on Jordane's maybe future wedding day.

This had to be one of the worst attempts to thrust an unwanted love-life at me she's ever carried out.

"Gohan!" she snapped—a sound that ordinarily would have struck a nervous livewire within me, but at this point, I was too damn irritated and angry to care of her disapproval. I got up and walked for my bedroom. Before I could open my door, "Where are you going?" Mom shrieked.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed." I said nothing else as I closed my door behind me. I didn't go straight to my bed, but rather I lingered at my door, almost as if to eavesdrop on everyone's responses. Perhaps Mom would feel bad after meriting such a strong reaction out of me.

Instead, I only heard Jordane's soft, polite voice, "I'm tired too. Good night." Her footsteps pattered down the hall and up the stairs.

With a frustrated groan, I plopped down on my bed, attempting to relax and get my mind to comply with this far too early turn-in.

* * *

><p>I didn't bother carrying the awkward distaste of that night's horrid family conversation with me to the trail ride the following afternoon. Renea invited Jordane and I for a ride in the expansive trails of the mountain, and neither of us could refuse. We cancelled our training plans for the little getaway.<p>

Jordane and I rode Lightning down the Mt. Poaz to Renea's mansion. Regardless of any selection of horses offered to me, Lightning would always be my only chosen mount.

He had no issues keeping his footing in the soft but dry footing of the worn-down trail that we've traveled countless times before. In having to shift his body going downhill, I had to do the same, leaning back in the saddle so he could keep himself balanced.

I found myself thankful Jordane knew how to ride horses; she inclined herself back just as me, keeping her seat firm and secure, even without hanging on to me. Aside from not being a hindrance of a load for my horse, I was grateful I wouldn't have to deal with her clinging to me with every step Lightning took.

Ah, spoke too soon. A steep incline was up ahead, and a tiny grip on the seat of the saddle wouldn't be efficient to keep Jordane on Lightning's back with how he needed to lunge his body forward and up over uneven ground. So, naturally, she had to wrap her arms around my waist and hold herself close to me to better balance herself.

Her breath rasped against the delicate skin of my neck and ear, sending little shivers down my back. _Stop it, _I disciplined myself. _You shouldn't let her affect you like this. _

Returning to even ground, Jordane's grasp on me was gone, but she had settled herself securely in the back of the saddle, leaving a little less space between us than there was when the ride began. I forced myself not to pay any attention to her closeness.

Renea's barn, just as with her house, was far more exaggerated and grand than the humble structures at my home sanctuary. It was an elegant twenty-stall barn, with red cherry wood and cast-iron walls, and an indoor arena on the other end of the breezeway. Vicki, in addition to being a vet, was also a breeder and trainer, who bred, showed, and sold champion bloodline horses—both of the mortal kind and the Faux Unicorns—on the sidelines of her duty in the vet's office. It's where a great deal of their millionaire lifestyle was derived.

Jordane gravitated toward a steel grey Oldenburg mare, who she chose to saddle up for the trail ride. She said it reminded her of her Ziggy, aside from the breed and gender difference.

Renea mounted her favorite horse, a Thoroughbred stallion who she'd had since she was five, whose impressive height made her—and her petite English saddle—look all the more tiny. Vince picked the same horse he always rode, a young bay Cob.

All tension I may have carried with me from home was eradicated when the ride began. Between Lightning's hypnotic, swaying gait to the light-hearted conversations I exchanged with my friends, there was nothing more for my bitter attitude to hold on to.

I rode at the back of the pack, for it was one of the only ways, besides constantly holding him back, to keep Lightning from wanting to bolt up the trails. When with a herd, he didn't mind a leisurely pace. His ears were at an easy tilt back toward me, ready to catch any sounds should something try to sneak up on his herd from behind.

Jordane rode right in front of me, and when she wasn't actively participating in a conversation, she would occasionally twist around in the saddle to look back at me. Whether she did so to check on me or see if I was enjoying myself, I couldn't tell. Or maybe, going by the smile on her face, she was simply letting me know she was having a ball. I was glad for that, and returned her smile with one of my own.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind where I wouldn't ever openly admit it, I missed feeling her warmth behind me in the saddle.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A little bit of teasing, a little bit of bonding…a little bit of…something hehe. And Jordane finally opened up about her "experience" with Glen. It was surprisingly difficult for me to write that small little story of hers, because as I mentioned previously, I don't want to make a big deal of rape/sexual abuse themes in this story, and I didn't want Jordane to be a typical "victim" of it, yet at the same time I wanted to convey some importance to it in regards to her character and how she treats others; it was just another obstacle she conquered, and a wall she broke through…yeah, it's confusing enough for me lol I hope it makes sense to you readers!**

**I had to write a bit for Chichi going on about marriage, kids, settling down, and all that jazz, just so I could have Gohan flip out lol But hey, he's starting to "feel things"… hehe but of course he's going to be a stubborn ass-hat about it and ignore whatever he's feeling for the sake of his own agenda and what he feels is right… Darn that boy. **

**Thank you again for your guys' support on this story! It really means a lot! :} **

**- J**

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	29. 28: Focus

**28. Focus**

**_Jordane_**

With each concluding day of training, I awoke the next morning feeling renewed and alive. If not for the anticipation of what I would learn next, then it was the contentment and satisfaction of being physically worked and rested.

Something new was happening at the Son residence this evening, I discovered. Gohan's grandfather was visiting. So, Chichi spent the afternoon cleaning up the house—as if it could be any more spotless—and Goku and Gohan sparred while I sat in the shade relaxing. Well, relaxing would have been lying back in the grass and taking a little catnap; I was up and ready, with my camera in hand, taking photos of various dynamic poses Gohan and his dad struck in their little sparring match. Thankfully, they were only-play fighting leisurely; if they were really going at it, the only thing that would show up in my photos was just scenic landscape.

In one photo, Gohan stood still, and though I was attempting to get a shot of him from the back to show off his ridiculously perfect posture, his head turned and met my eyes through the camera lens. I took the photo anyways, resisting the urge to go back and look at it some more.

A distant humming of a strange car engine could be heard down the road. Soon enough, a large white car—that didn't appear to even touch the road—was in view, and slowed to a park in front of the Son house.

A hover car? _Really? _Just how behind was the technology back home, exactly? I was quick to notice a distinctive logo of two Cs; one overlapping the other. I've seen it just about everywhere ever since moving here.

The man who came out of the hover-car truly caught me off-guard. A behemoth, rather. He was as thick as he was tall—at least eight feet tall—and his bearded face would have otherwise been menacing…if he didn't have a smile plastered all over his face.

"Grandpa, Grandpa!" Goten chanted happily, running on tiny legs to the man, who scooped him up.

"There's the little munchkin!" Gohan and Goku both approached the large man, and I lingered a little ways behind to leave them to their reunion. "Gohan," their grandfather chuckled, looking at Gohan with a special fondness. "I don't visit for a couple months and you sprout a few more inches? You need to stop growing so fast!"

"I haven't grown _that_ much. Stop exaggerating, Grandpa," Gohan snickered, letting his grandfather's large arm envelope him in a hug. The big man exchanged a greeting glance to Goku and then those dark eyes landed on me, his bushy brows shooting up.

"And who is this pretty young lady?"

"This is Jordane Teague. She's a friend of Gohan's, and she's training with us to compete in the Martial Arts Tournament next month," Goku elaborated with a smile. "She's a hybrid, as well."

"A Saiyan hybrid," Gohan filled in, causing his grandfather's face to lighten up.

"Well, I'll be darned! A rare gem, you are then, my dear, just like our Gohan here." He met me halfway for a proper greet, and I felt awkward holding out my hand for a handshake when my fingers couldn't even stretch across his palm. It didn't matter; he took hold of my tiny hand in both of his mammoth ones, shaking and holding it gently. "Glad to have you as part of our family, Jordane!"

As colossal of a man as he was, and how intimidating he could have looked a lifetime ago, he still had that genial, affectionate glow every grandfather naturally had. I could hear my grandfather's voice in my head, and it was like a needle poking at my heart.

"Thank you."

"Oh, Gohan? I was wondering if you could take a look at my car. It's been acting up lately; I'm quite surprised I was able to even get here."

"Sure, no problem," Gohan assured his grandfather, immediately slipping into the car and driving it to the garage in the back of the house. Not wanting to be rude, I followed Goku and his father-in-law back to the house to help Chichi prepare dinner.

As I did this, Gohan's grandfather, named Ox King, played twenty questions with me. He asked me the basics; where I was from, how big a family I had, how I came to move to Japan. Then he graduated to "What do you want to do in college", "How do you like to spend your free time", "What are some of your favorite things to do", and other such questions, all of which I answered promptly and honestly. He sounded pleased with what he heard, and moved on to occupying Goten so Chichi and I could be left to our work.

"Why don't you go on and join Gohan. I can finish preparing dinner," Chichi insisted sweetly. I saw no reason to hang around if I was no longer needed, so I went outside and around the house to the garage, where Ox King's car sat up on jacks. Underneath it, I saw Gohan's legs and thick-soled boots and could hear cluttering of metal and gears.

Walking over, I lightly kicked his heavy boot with my own, which caused him to roll out from under the car. I smiled. "Mr. Fix-It, aren't you?"

"I guess so," he chuckled, coming out from underneath the car completely.

"I didn't peg you for being a mechanic," I half-teased.

"Yeah, well, I developed a little knack for fixing things for my mom and grandpa—regardless of what it is." It sounded like him; a self-taught fix-it Jack of All Trades, adapting to whatever he needed to in order to help those who needed it. I would have offered my aid, but I didn't know the first thing about hover cars, so I kept quiet and wandered around the clean-as-a-pin garage. The small workbenches and shelves held a small assortment of tools and decorations, the walls painted a pale cream color that ensured good light.

"Hey," Gohan said, and I turned to find him buried in the hood of the car. He briefly popped his head up. "Come give me a hand with this."

"What do you need?" Getting to the car, I found myself utterly at a loss. I recognized some pieces, but there were gizmos and parts that threw me for a loop.

"See this narrow passage here?" I followed his hand to a strip of space between what looked to be the engine and some other large operating compartment. "I need to get to that spark circulator and this is the closest way."

"Spark circulator?" I asked.

"It sends excess energy through the engine that converts to air pressure; it's just one of the many processes that allow it to hover."

"Ah."

"But what I need you to do is pry apart that opening just enough to where I can squeeze my hand in. Don't worry, you won't break or damage anything." Taking his word, I wrapped my fingers around the edges of the parts and carefully, gradually, began to pull them away from one another, making the one-inch gap between them grow. There was a little resistance but it wasn't anything that proved difficult.

When the space was large enough for Gohan to fit his hand in, he slid it inside, holding a tubular piece of equipment or a part. He had to reach his hand in deep, so I pulled it apart some more to where he had up to his elbow buried. In doing this, any comfortable space between us had vanished; his head was right above mine, his chin bumping against my forehead and his arm rubbed against mine. He smelled of sweet mint and pine, and I tried to focus on the calming effects of those scents together rather than his closeness. I wasn't very successful. I was aware of him entirely; right down to how the muscles in his triceps flexed and brushed against my arm as he struggled to find the area he was looking for.

"Come on," he muttered. In my peripheral, I saw his eye flicker over to me for a brief second before he went on pretending to ignore the intimate bubble we entrapped in to concentrate on the task at hand.

I didn't know if I wanted to smile in an attempt to relieve the obvious tension between us or if I should continue ignoring it—and doing poorly—as he was. Before I could make up my mind, something clicked and latched inside the car, and Gohan was able to bring his arm out.

"There," he sighed successfully, reaching for a rag to wipe his hands that had some grease marks on the knuckles. In that instant, I thought of Paul, back when we spent our days fixing old cars in his dad's garage.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

Gohan looked at me with a curious empathy. "You had that look on your face; like you're distant-minded, thinking about someone you miss."

I wouldn't bother hiding it. I haven't had to hide a great deal much from Gohan or his father for that matter when it came to my feelings and mental occupations, and it was an allaying change. "My cousin, Paul."

"The one who's overseas?"

"Mhm. I haven't talked to him in a couple weeks; last time was a few days before I came here, and that was a pretty short conversation. There's a lot to do on a big metal rig in the middle of the ocean, apparently."

Leaning on the car, I blew a raspberry, letting the somber melancholy mood seep into my mind. "I've been feeling real homesick lately—again," I scoffed. I missed everything old and familiar, forget country lines or ocean boundaries. I missed my dog, I missed my cats, I missed my friends, I missed my family and my mother. My house was just down the mountain; I could just go for a jog and I'd be at my house for a visit… But no. I had a charade to uphold and a lie to maintain. After this amount of time had passed, keeping that lie was really starting to suck.

"There's nothing wrong with being homesick," Gohan assured me.

"Do you think I should invite my mom? To the tournament, I mean?"

He shrugged at me. "It's up to you. I've already made a mark against both our virtues in supporting this whole arrangement," he added humorously, nudging my arm.

"Now that I think about it, I'd like the idea of my mom seeing how much I've grown and what I can do in a stadium full of people. She can see that I'm not out of control like I used to be. But…"

"But?"

"I think, if I do have her come to the tournament, it won't be until the semi-final bouts. You said after the first day of the tournament, there is no chance of withdrawal, right?"

"Yeah. Ah, I see your logic. If your mom comes to see you in the final bouts, she won't be able to withdraw you from the tournament if she doesn't take to the reveal too well. Clever."

"I try."

Dinner was filled with gut-busting laughter and cheerfulness. Ox King was undoubtedly a bubbly soul despite his massive size and past reputation as a once ruthless and cold ruler. It was hard to imagine anyone in Gohan's family having a mean bone in their body.

The warm, almost cuddly mood of the evening continued from the dinner table to the living room floor, where Chichi insisted we all sit down and look through family memories in a photo album. Most of the photos, to my delight, were of Gohan.

"Ah, here he is. Five years old, and got his brand new haircut!" Chichi squealed in fond amusement, pointing to a picture of a short and stubby little boy in what looked like a private school boy's suit, and a sleek black bowl cut hairdo. He looked totally embarrassed, like he wanted to disappear.

"Augh, Mom," Gohan groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch cushions in humiliation. No wonder he wasn't quite so enthusiastic about the idea of taking a trip down memory lane…

"Stop it," Chichi said. "I still think you looked absolutely adorable in that haircut."

"Of course _you_ would," Gohan nipped, shooting his mother an ungrateful glare, yet it still held enough mocking for it to be playful.

The photos highlighting the year building up to the Cell Games were most fascinating to me. A ten-year-old Gohan was still short, stubby-legged, with spiked hair grown out and down his back, a tiny nose and soft face. The next set of pictures a year later, he looked like a different kid; not only because he had a Super Saiyan's blonde hair and green eyes, but because he was taller, his limbs were lengthening with maturing muscle, and his nose was straightening, though the rest of his face still contained youthful softness, but not as much. Puberty for Saiyans, according to Goku, was drastic, even for half-breeds.

I hardly remembered the changes I underwent when I hit puberty. More muscle mass, I suppose; I was leaner and already had more of a feminine shape than most girls my age. The most memorable details of the whole experience were mainly unpleasant; after all, what fun was there in needing to shave, having to start wearing damned uncomfortable bras and dealing with cramps and a bloody mess once every month?

When I saw pictures of a thirteen-year-old Gohan, I felt a little less awkward in admitting to myself that he was absolutely cute—heartbreaker cute. He still had the same spiked hair he did when he was eleven, but was even leaner and taller; he stood proud wearing his dad's orange and blue gi outfit at the Intergalactic Martial Arts Tournament three years ago.

Three years… It was hard to believe the picture was a mere three years old, comparing the boy in it to the sixteen-year-old he-man adolescent I knew today.

From age fourteen onward, I could see where he changed. He wore clothes darker in color, had his hair in more of the shaggy mess that it was today, and the innocence that had been there even when he was thirteen was nearly untraceable.

At age fifteen, there wasn't a great deal of difference to how he looked now, except for his height and the width of his shoulders. He appeared a boy still, his smiles having a mild, restrained likeness to them as opposed to his all-out carefree grins that occupied past pictures.

I couldn't help but wonder just all what happened in his mind in those select years to make his point of view shift—other reasons than being a child soldier. Maybe sometime soon he'll open up about it.

Once in bed, I couldn't wait for sleep. I lied there, letting my eyes close slowly, relaxation spreading through my body like a magic potion to make me sleep.

My cell phone's upbeat ringtone disrupted my peaceful beginnings of slumber, and I wasn't surprised to find it was my mother.

"I haven't heard from you by your usual time," she said, her tone light enough to let me know she wasn't upset.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm just real beat."

"Have you had enough equestrianism to last you a while?" she asked, chuckling.

"Ah, no." We both snickered at one another.

"Well, I've uh, I've got something to tell you; I think you're going to like it." Judging by the tone in my mother's voice, she certainly was excited in what she was about to say; I could only hope I would as well.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking of telling you a couple weeks ago but I wanted to make sure this was going to be something that can be committed to." She paused, and I waited. "This job has brought in more money than I ever thought it would. Even with our bills, I've been able to stash some money away and we have five thousand dollars so far! How about that?"

"Wow." I hadn't realized she was earning that much money—let alone that she'd managed to accumulate so much in savings. A stash like that could make for some promising opportunities; for once, I could think of college without wincing as to how I'd be able to afford it. "Well, go on."

"If my job keeps going this good another six months or so, we'll be able to move back home, with ample money to keep us more than afloat until the both of us can get a new job."

For a few seconds, my mouth was open, ready to form the word "Oh", if I could find the voice to say it.

"Jordane? Isn't that great?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess."

"What's wrong?"

_Yeah, what _is_ wrong? This was what you've been wishing could happen ever since you got here. _Well, a month ago, that was the case. Now… "Nothing, I just… I don't know. I guess I'm just finally getting used to stuff here and the thought of packing back up and moving…"

"We can always come back. We'll be able to afford two mortgages if we continue saving up the money. I thought you'd be a little happier than this."

_Me too. _"I am happy," I said, forcing myself to heighten the tone of my voice to sound cheerful. "That's great, Mom. It's good news."

After chatting a little more about miscellaneous matters, Mom and I said our good-nights and hung up. Upon pondering life back in Washington, I glanced at the clock. Ten o' clock P.M. here… So it should be at least ten in the morning back on the west coast of the U.S…

I dialed Amanda's number, waiting for someone to pick up. It's Saturday, so she should be home and free to talk. "Hello?" It was her mother. The sweet voice brought back a sense of home more than I ever thought it could.

"Hey, Rita," I gushed, genuinely happy to hear her voice.

"Oh, hey, Jordane. Haven't heard from you in a while. How have you been?"

"Busy. How are things over there?"

"Eh, same old, I suppose."

"Good to hear. Is Amanda home?"

"Uh…" There was an odd pause. "Yeah, let me see if she's busy or not…"

Thanks to my hearing, I could pick up things most people couldn't hear when being put on hold. I could hear Rita's soft footsteps on the old floor in her house, and she approached two girls' voices.

"Amanda," Rita said softly, her voice slightly muffled. "It's Jordane." A few rustling sounds.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you." I smile instantly came across my face.

"Oh, hey." Amanda sounded cheerful—a content sort of cheerful, and I couldn't think of the last time I heard her sound like this. It was a relief. "How's it going over there in the land of Japan?"

"It's going good, actually. But I've got some interesting news."

I heard a girl's voice in the background; it sounded like she was giggling. I recognized a similar noise from Amanda—only briefly. "Oh, what's the news?"

"I could be moving back there to Washington before the end of the year. Mom's been saving up her money and she tells me we'll have enough saved up in half a year or so to move back home."

"Oh, neat!"

Something about her response threw me off. She was happy, but not near as enthusiastic or joyful as I would have expected her to be…

"So, how've you been?"

"I've been okay. I'm actually hanging out with Carly now."

"Carly…," I mused, trying to place the familiar name with a face.

"Yeah, Carly Lane? The girl in my photography class?"

"Oh, okay." _Oh, her_, was what I truly wanted to say. I'd met the girl before I moved, when Amanda sort of unofficially brought her into our group, more or less. Well, actually, she wasn't even in our group; she was sort of a loner who Amanda sometimes hung out with because they shared a couple classes. She seemed nice enough at first, kind of an awkward girl, but over time, there were some things about her that irked me… She would always borrow something of Amanda's, like her MP3 player or cell phone or school supplies, either by asking for it or thinking she was entitled to just take it from her backpack without even asking; she was pretty bossy, too. Often, I witnessed her haul Amanda all over the school, no questions asked. Selfish, bossy, and clingy… Yeah, not my cup of tea.

I heard Carly giggle again in the background, and I wondered just what it was they found amusing. "Well, listen, it's great to hear from you. I'll talk to you later, though, okay."

Amanda's abrupt dismissal left me a little stunned. She wasn't asking me if I could talk to her later; she was _telling_ me to wait until later to talk.

"Okay, bye." The line clicked.

* * *

><p>At noon the next day, Goku and Gohan and myself tacked up the horses and rode out further down the mountain. For my next phases of training, we would be camping out in the wilderness, something I looked forward to with insatiable eagerness.<p>

The "campsite" was an oasis paradise; trees on one side, hillside clearing on the other, with a wider leg of the same river we'd fished at before. After skimming through all the beautiful nature and scenery, my eyes fell upon something odd and out of place. A flashy white fabric—a cape—flowed in the light breeze, catching my attention like a blaring light. Neither Goku or Gohan appeared to show any concern; in fact, they just gave one unworried glance toward the tall, white-clad figure and we began setting up camp. I had my own tent, and Goku and Gohan shared a larger one; I pitched mine just beside theirs with not even a foot of space between them. As much as I looked forward to camping in this beautiful new place, at the end of the day, I felt comfort in being in close proximity to the two of them.

"So, uh, Gohan? Who is that over there?" I asked as I bound and secured the final tie post to hold my tent.

"That's Piccolo."

"Oh, that's Piccolo?"

"Mhm."

"Why hasn't he come over here yet?"

A weird little grin came to his face, like there was an inside joke he was keeping to himself. "He will when he wants to."

"What's the grin for?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Nothing, it's just, ah…he can hear you—us—talking. His hearing is as good as ours, if not a few degrees better."

"Oh," I uttered awkwardly.

"He's a bit stoic, quiet," Gohan elaborated. "It takes a little while for him to warm up to people, and for others to warm up to him, but he is pretty awesome once you get to know him."

I'd have to take his word for it, because once our camp was set up and Gohan had made a fire to cook dinner, Piccolo had moved from his spot and walked over. Up close, he towered over me and looked absolutely intimidating. The stern black eyes set under prominent, hairless brows didn't help, either. He was familiar, however; I recalled seeing him on the tiny video window of the Cell Games broadcast on that website I stumbled upon.

"Piccolo, long time no see," Goku greeted, all chipper and happy.

"Goku," Piccolo replied, his voice so booming and deep, I could feel it reverberating in my gut. When his eyes immediately shot to me, I tried my best to not look or feel daunted.

"This is Jordane," Gohan elaborated to Piccolo's silent inquiry. "Jordane, this is Piccolo, my good friend."

"Nice to meet you," I said firmly, managing to smile. I hoped it didn't look as forced as I thought it did.

"So you're the other Saiyan hybrid Gohan told me about," Piccolo mused, intrigue beginning to mask his stone-hard expression.

"Gohan's told you about me?" I raised a brow, glancing over to Gohan, who didn't look up from the fire he was tending to. The inaction seemed a bit deliberate to pass off as indifference.

"Yes; it's quite fascinating, how we've completely looked you over all these years. We always thought there were only two pure-bred Saiyans left in existence."

"Yep, well, you guys missed one," I said with juiceless humor, sounding just flat-out awkward.

After frying up some fish and rice—none of which Piccolo even had a bite of—the boys assured me no training would commence for the rest of the evening. While the sun was still out, however, Gohan proposed we go enjoy the tepid water of the lake lit up by the setting sun. Thankfully, I packed my swimsuit.

We walked with Lightning down the hill for the waterside, and I just ran as soon as we were close enough. I didn't look back, yet I could feel Lightning's stride tremble the earth beneath my own strides. As soon as my legs broke the water's surface, I was submerged in a liquid cocoon of coolness.

Lightning happily treaded through the water; he began to paw at it, and in the shallow end he lied down on his knees, then brought his butt down so that he was lying completely in water. Comfortable and on even ground, he began to roll, dipping his face in the water making sure water touched every inch of his body. Next to dogs, horses were the most adorable to watch playing in water.

Gohan shrugged his shirt off, tossed it on the shore and just came in the water with his gi sweats on. He dove into the water and resurfaced within seconds, shaking his head so his hair swayed and spiked messily in every direction possible. I should have solely focused on how hilariously adorable and silly the look was on him, but my eyes—and mind—caved in to the irresistible draw of his body first.

It didn't matter that I'd seen him half-naked a dozen times already; I was still in awe whenever I caught a glimpse of any exposed skin his everyday clothes regularly hid. And in this situation, his body playing a sinfully cruel game of silent seduction as the sun kissed his glistening wet skin indubitably didn't help my focus.

He sure didn't have the body of any ordinary sixteen-year-old; it's as if he was etched from stone, yet the sinew blended in soft lines under his beautiful crème-colored skin—the similar type of body I've seen hundreds of times on the cover of magazines or in TV shows, yet seeing such a specimen before me in the flesh rather than through an intangible picture left me at a loss for words or thought. Did I find him attractive? At this point, I accepted that I would be an idiot if I didn't say yes.

When I knew he wasn't looking, my eyes scaled him as far as the water let me, drinking in his fluid, strong form. I intently followed the sloping line of his shoulders as they blended into the muscles of his back and tapered to narrow hips, and I yearned to recreate those lines on paper. I wanted to pick up a pencil and recreate the captivating muse standing before me; I wanted to sketch in each detail, from the modest line of his lips, the chiseled planes of his abs, right down to the V-shape of his softly prominent hip-bones. Powerful, robust, yet lean enough to be agile and swift; he was a creature built for the sole purpose of war and combat, and that fact within itself made him dangerously beautiful.

_Enough, enough! _

I joined him in the deeper end, swimming around Lightning as he pranced and trudged through the water, eventually heading deep enough to where he had to paddle and swim. When he reached shallow water once again, I couldn't resist the impulse to climb onto his back, just sitting on him as he played in the water.

Gohan swam nearby, and in the second my eyes landed on him I caught glimpse of a smile before he directed himself to Lightning's back and pulled himself up, right behind me. He was careful not to scoot too close, but even with an inch or so between us, I could still feel the strong warmth emitting from his body.

To divert the awkward situation, I lunged my body forward and gave a light kick to Lightning's barrel, causing him to jolt forward with a gleeful leap. While still at this gait, I looked back and saw Gohan was no longer behind me, but had splashed back into the lake. Laughing, I enjoyed my ride on his horse—as short as it turned out to be, when a whistle broke out, and Lightning's powerful body suddenly locked down beneath me as he ground to a side-halt, sending me flying off his back and into the water with a little shriek.

When I surfaced, Gohan was in front of me with Lightning, a big smirk on his face. "Nice try. He may like you, but he's always loyal to me, first and foremost." I stuck my tongue out, and he laughed. "As the saying goes," he began, patting Lightning's back, "when you fall off, you get right back on that horse."

Having started my own horse and even wild mustangs, that old saying was always a motto to live by. Without hesitation, I leapt back onto my seat, and I had Lightning take off along the low shore of the lake. Off to my side, Gohan flew next to us, keeping up effortlessly with his horse's light jog.

"Let him kick into high gear," he shouted over the coursing wind. "It's really something."

According to what he's told me, Faux Unicorns could book it far past a mundane horse's speed; as fast as a cheetah, if not faster, depending on the individual.

I squeezed my legs into Lightning's sides, I leaned forward and vocalized a kissing cue, and the large stallion responded by tightening his muscles and lengthening his stride. Water sprayed and splashed against my legs and across my face, but my smile remained as I felt the power and speed of Lightning's "high gear". One would think, being able to fly just as fast, that a little ride on the back of an animal wouldn't hold a candle to it; well, being on the back of a horse was just that special, regardless of what I would ever experience in my life.

Gohan kept up easily, hovering by Lightning's side as we galloped along the shoreline. The simple magnificence of the fast-paced moment was too wonderful to put into words, so I didn't even try.

I spent the remainder of the daylight on Lightning's back, cantering over the sloping hills and occasionally splashing back into the lake. Gohan eventually joined me on his horse's back, and not even his bare closeness could stunt the gratifying, elated mood the ride had brought me. Actually, I found myself wishing he could somehow forget modesty—and his rules—and just hug me. After all this exhilaration, the thought of being wrapped up and cozy in someone's arms just sounded so temptingly perfect.

Eventually, we returned to the campground, where Piccolo and Goku still hung out; Goku, still not full from dinner earlier, had cut another piece of the monstrous fish he caught and was cooking it. Gohan humorously shared with me that if there's at least one form of cooking his father knew how to execute, was cutting and cooking fish, since that was how he lived and survived as a child. Goku was refreshing that way; the man was so blissfully simple, you couldn't help but wish more people were like him just so the world could be a humbler place. It's one of the many things I'd come to admire about the man.

"So, Gohan, you're taking on the role of trainer and mentor. I trust you won't make it easy for your pupil. One never gets too far when given the easy road, as you know," Piccolo spoke, still sitting in the same way he was earlier; floating just a few feet off the ground, arms folded, legs crossed.

"'Easy' is the last place I want him to take me," I said with conviction, glancing over in Gohan's direction. He smirked, but accommodated the expression with a slight shake of the head.

"It won't be like that, Piccolo. She isn't training for serious in that department."

The sound Piccolo uttered was a cross between a disapproving grunt and a thoughtful hum. Somehow, the noise seemed very appropriate and natural of him. "It's not as if it would do any harm to have another Saiyan in our ranks."

"Not happening," Gohan murmured, half growl and half groan, his mouth moving only slightly. He didn't look at Piccolo, but the impact of his words still carried through. I had the sudden, compelling urge to contradict his statement, to have a say in what I would or wouldn't be involved in. I knew he was just being a friend and wanting to spare me the awful things he'd experienced in his past, but the fact he was so damn insistent on it got a tad annoying. It wasn't an appropriate time to get in a little scuffle about it, though. I'll have my chance.

Story time eventually fell upon the campfire circle. Goku entertained Gohan and I with the story of how he and Piccolo met, how their rivalry almost destroyed the entire city, and, ultimately, how they came to be allies. A story Gohan's heard a hundred times already, yet he appeared to still be enthralled by the tale. The most Piccolo participated in the story was an occasional smirk or short note of elaborative clarification.

They were an odd duo, Piccolo and Goku. One was a stoic, unyielding statue comprised of logic and collectiveness, while the other was a buoyant and careless puppy whose only concern was what his next meal was going to be.

Sometimes, the most unlikely pairs formed the closest bonds.

"And then he trained Gohan, and that's what got the ball rolling," Goku continued.

"I didn't know what all I could do with such a pale and weak little thing, until he proved himself by surviving on his own in the wilderness for six months. I promised him he would laugh at his fears once he discovered just what he was capable of." Piccolo's beady eyes switched from their fixated stance at the fire to Gohan, who was grinning in an awkward way, scratching the back of his head leisurely.

"You wouldn't think such a strong warrior like this could have started out a small and helpless child that cried at every little thing that scared him." There was enough of a nostalgic, almost playful hue to Piccolo's rambling, so I didn't see the banter as diminutive toward Gohan. He appeared totally unbothered by it.

Although Gohan had his own tent, he hung out with me in my tent at the end of the night. Having a full stomach, Goku was snoring not even five minutes after heading to bed.

"He's…interesting," I said when our quiet conversation veered over to Piccolo. Gohan smirked one of those damned cute lop-sided smiles as he rested his chin on his hand. I laid beside him on top of my sleeping bag, a closed book by my head. The tent was small, not really intended for more than two average-sized people, and being in such closed quarters with him never ceased to put me on-edge.

"He really is like a second dad to you, isn't he?" I asked, and he looked at me again.

"Pretty much. Whenever my dad was gone, Piccolo filled in the spot. We trained most of the time rather than just sitting around visiting, but it was still time well-spent. I learned a lot from him, even though the process of learning those lessons was often painful and difficult." He smiled, proudly showing he held no residual bitterness, regret, or uncertainty. If anything, he looked grateful.

"You're amazing, you know that." Whether I'd intended to say this out loud, it didn't matter; it slipped out because it was true.

His smirk pinched up in one corner again in timid flattery. "I'm amazing, huh?"

"Yes. And I can't quite explain why, but you just are." I took my book and lightly smacked him upside the head, for no reason, really.

"Fathers or father figures can give you a lot," was all he said, folding his hands together.

I nodded. "Yeah, they can. I know my grandfather and uncles have had an influence on my life." When my eyes returned to his, I found he was gazing at me in that perplexing way that made it feel like he was dissecting me and my thoughts. It didn't bother me as much as it used to; I had no reason to hide from him anymore, but the fact he was so intent on knowing what went on inside my head was still mystifying and strangely intriguing.

"Can I ask you something?"

I grinned impishly. "You just did."

Gohan rolled his eyes. "So that's how you're going to play it, then, huh… Can I ask you three questions, then?"

"You already did."

Blinking in confusion, Gohan's brows furrowed. "No, I didn't—"

"You said, 'So that's how you're going to play it, huh'. That was a question."

"No, it wasn't, you…" He reached over and swiped at my head, ruffling my hair. I leaned away, covering myself with my pillow with a snicker.

"What is it?" I asked, off-handedly giving him my word I was finished with being a smart-ass. He leaned back onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, not taking his eyes off me. I willed myself not to break that trance, despite my curiosity to look at just how much space was between us.

Glancing down thoughtfully, this was the only brief instance his eyes left mine. "Do you ever find yourself wondering how things would be if your father was alive?"

The question itself was so random and unexpected, it took me a couple seconds to gather my thoughts in order to find an answer. "Well," I sighed, crossing my arms and resting my head on them. "Sure, I think about it. Maybe not every often, but… Sometimes, I wonder what he'd be like, as a dad. I don't have much to go on, because I don't ask my mom about him too much. But it's like, would he be an overprotective dad, a cool, laid-back dad, or a fair dad?" I shrugged.

"It'd be interesting… I highly doubt you'd be training here and lying in this tent with me if he was around," Gohan said with a light chuckle. I scoffed.

"If my dad were around, I wouldn't be in Tokyo, period." The realization of what I said sunk in slowly, and Gohan and I found ourselves locked in a melancholy stare imagining such a scenario. "…And that would suck," I finished, smiling a little. Soon, his own smile matched mine.

"Yes, it would." Lifting himself up, he moved to the entrance of the tent, glancing back at me to exchange "good night"s and went on his way.

Even as I laid my head back down on my pillow and closed my eyes, the smile wouldn't leave my face. Though the last thing on my mind was sleep, I simply lied there in my sleeping bag, not trying to sleep, but rather listening to the serene sound of the nighttime realm outside the thin material that enclosed me. From soft crooning calls of nocturnal creatures to the gentle, distant movement of the lake and river, this lulling symphony of nature cradled my conscience and I drifted off into sleep, ready for what this next phase of my adventure would bring me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Family bonding time! Again, I'm sorry for the long interval between updates… It took me a while to get the right motivation to finish this chapter; I didn't want to rush through it, because although it's mostly filler, there is some key stuff as far as relationships between characters go and whatnot that I didn't want to force or rush through. I am almost finished with chapter 30 now, but I am struggling to do so, because for the past 12+ hours, I've been wallowing in unwavering misery and dying of a broken heart over here… Why? I just finished reading the final book in a series/trilogy called Allegiant (of the Divergent trilogy), and the ending has knocked me on my ass, emotionally. Those of you who've read the series (particularly the last book) will know the misery I speak of… Gnah…gnah *falls to the floor and cries* **

**So yeah… I'm suffering from chronic reader's heartbreak syndrome over here…but I'm going to get past it and get these chapters published for you guys so we can get to the good stuff soon! As always, thank you so much for keeping up and reading Black Moon! The support and reviews you guys have been leaving me are great, and it brightens my day when you guys leave me feedback to read. So keep it up! :}**

**- J**

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	30. 29: Fitting Pieces

**29. Fitting Pieces**

**_Gohan_**

"Well, about time I heard from you, kid! It's been months! How you doing?"

"I'm fine, sorry I haven't been around much. But Bulma, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, name it."

"I was wondering if you could scrounge up some tickets for the Martial Arts Tournament and mail them to Washington State; around four tickets, I think."

"Sure," Bulma peeped. "But who's in Washington State?"

"It's just something I want to do for a friend," I replied timidly, peering over my shoulder to get a look for the campsite, just to be sure no one—especially Jordane—would walk in on my phone conversation.

"All right, then. Oh, speaking of friends… Gohan, when are you going to tell me who this person is that you took in for training? Your dad won't even tell me anything!"

"Because I told him not to," I said, smirking. "You'll all get to meet her when the tournament's here." In that little sentence, I gave away a new detail.

"'Her'?" She hummed on the other side of the phone. "Got yourself a little girl friend, have you?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I corrected through gritted teeth, managing to keep a small hint of lightness to my voice.

"Well, she is a girl, and she is a friend, isn't she? I didn't mean like the dating kind of girlfriend…though that would be pretty neat…"

"You got a pen and paper?"

"I do," Bulma said, dropping the subject with a humor-laced tone.

"Okay, the names of those I want you to send the tickets to are Amanda Wyatt, Sara Kendrick, Ashlyn Wenchester, and Cristine Albock. You should be able to look up their addresses, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Anything else?"

"No, that's it. Thanks a million, Bulma, you're awesome."

"Oh, I know," she giggled, and I hung up, grinning.

* * *

><p>The towering trees created a natural wall of shelter, shade, and isolation; this was one of my dad's and mine's favorite places to train, just because of the seclusion from the nearest house or road, and the open dome in a circle of monumental trees that were centuries old gave an ancient, mythical vibe to the place. Perfect for meditating and concentrating.<p>

Even more perfect for senses training.

"So, it's a pretty basic concept," I said, displaying the bandana I had to Jordane. We both stood in the middle of the clearing, while my father lounged near a tree and Piccolo was literally up in the tree, relaxing and supervising. "You'll be blindfolded, and you'll rely on your other senses—smell, hearing, touch—and use them all collectively to determine where I am, how far I am, when I am about to strike, and where to go to avoid me. It's all about honing your timing, precision, mental keenness, and developing an instinct that's key to any martial arts. Because there is only so much your eyes can tell you, and only so much time they can give you to avoid a threat. It's also a great method to learn to develop that sixth sense; your ability to seek out and read energy signatures."

"Makes sense," Jordane yipped, rotating her arms and loosening her shoulders. Her tenacity and eagerness to learn made it so easy to work with her. I worked my way behind her as I slipped the bandana across her eyes, taking care to be gentle and not to tweak or pull any of her hair as I tied the knot. "That too tight?"

"Nope, it's good."

"All right. To start, I want you to get a feel of the place. You got a brief look of it when we got here, but I want you to memorize it and rebuild the atmosphere in your mind, only using what you smell, hear, and feel." I stood a ways from her, absolutely unmoving, as she inhaled deeply and relaxed, taking in all this realm had to offer her. Her small nostrils flared, and she tilted her chin just ever so slightly; the gesture was purely, simply wolf. We'd spent so much time training as Saiyans, I had forgotten we have yet to spend time together in wolf pelt.

A mellow breeze flowed through the narrow air current of the trees, bringing with it smells of deer, rabbit, grass, and horse. Since the wind pressed against me and toward Jordane, I knew she could smell where I was as well.

"Now…where am I? Point to where you think I am."

She raised her arm, directing her flat palm toward where I stood, just off to her right side. "Very good," I said. "Using what I taught you yesterday, seek me out only by focusing on my energy signal." After I was done speaking, I tip-toed soundlessly behind her and waited. I kept my heart steady so she couldn't use it to locate me. I wanted her to use only her energy-sensing ability.

"Are you…behind me?"

"Good." I apparated and reappeared about twenty feet from her. Her eyebrows knit together the way they did whenever she was putting extra effort to concentrate.

"You're right in front of me now," she said hesitantly, as if she could sense a catch. _Sense me out, _I silently told her, though I knew she couldn't hear me just yet. Telepathic communication was something off in the distant future, if ever.

Taking one step after careful step, she walked toward me, keeping her arms at her sides, using her sense of smell and hearing to seek me out. I waited expectantly until she was barely five feet from me. Although I couldn't see her eyes, I knew she had found me, for instead of cocking her head this way and that, she kept herself squared with my path.

After she was able to navigate her way and find me easily enough, I soon moved to a game of Marco-Polo, dancing around her lightly on my feet, keeping her just as much on her toes as I was on mine.

Uttering a growl of impatience, Jordane lunged for me a second time, which I reacted to by blocking her fist, as it was very close to nicking me and I served a swift fist to her shoulder. I was sure to restrain enough to where it wouldn't cause more than a mild discomfort. She made another noise of disappointment, only she wore a smile, and the expression was contagious.

Springing toward her once again, I was a little thrown off when she blocked my arm from making contact with her side.

"Very nice," I praised, choosing my next point of attack. She was concentrated on me now; her feet spread apart to gain proper leverage and balance, her arms low but arched from her body. Swinging my leg out, I aimed to kick for the back of her knee, but she matched the blow with her foot, nearly throwing me off.

"You're learning fast," I said with a grin.

This time, rather than serve an attack, I snuck up on her and jabbed my fingers to her side. The reaction I got was a modest jump and squeal, her mouth open with a wide grin. On her other side, I lunged for her again and used all my fingers to make light contact with her sensitive waist. I remembered her mentioning to me once that she was awfully ticklish…

She proved her own words as she chirped and laughed with each contact of my fingers on her delicate skin. Whenever she could, she attempted to take a swing at me, but I was a step quicker and avoided her strikes.

"You little…," she snarled, laughter thick in her voice.

By the time I'd snuck up on her, so close my chest could touch her shoulder, I leaned my head to her ear and blew into it, maneuvering just in time to avoid her swinging arm. Even with the blindfold, she and I were sharing our smiles.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this sort of delight and fun while training.

It'd been a long time.

* * *

><p>Over the course of the next week, Jordane's training continued. One day, I had her partaking in simple mental and senses exercises; the next day I'd be drilling her to execute hundreds of sets of sit ups, pull-ups, crunches, and curls. Blistering sun or pouring rain, it didn't matter; we were out there working in some form or another.<p>

Her tenacity never ceased to please me. Weather conditions didn't matter, or how many sets of anything I had her do; she executed them all without any form of complaint. It seemed with each trial she completed, there was a hunger gleaming in her eyes that grew stronger, and I recognized the look instantaneously. Yet, it was tamed enough for there to be some hope—hope that I wouldn't get her to cross over to the other side, that she could still go back to living her normal life and keeping her Saiyan spirit unexplored. For her sake.

In fleeting moments, I could see the training she'd taken under her cousin's tutelage seep through into the present, in the way she tackled and conquered each exercise with such a stern, determined scowl on her face and was always hopping off for the next one. At times, I couldn't help but feel as if we were in the army, and I was her drill instructor, pushing and guiding her to our goal.

Dad and Piccolo often went off to spar together, leaving me alone to train Jordane a majority of the time. Whenever we weren't training, we were messing around and enjoying the beautiful realm we had at our disposal. We took the horses riding down by the lake or in the trails, went swimming, or just lied in the grass under a shady tree to take a little cat nap.

One such afternoon, after training, we cooled off in the chilled lake, and didn't bother drying off, but instead planted ourselves underneath our tree, allowing the warm breeze to enfold us within a cozy blanket of summer.

A few minutes into our idyllic meditation, I heard Jordane squeak and gasp in panic, and immediately shot up myself to see what the alarm was for. By the time my eyes found her, she was crouched by my feet, and her eyes hastily searched the blades of grass.

"What is it?" I asked, looking at the ground as well.

"A spider was just crawling on me," she said, slapping at her arms and legs. Something was moving through the blades of grass, and sure enough, it was a tree spider; pretty common around here.

"It's just a little one," I said, placing my finger down in front of it. Rather than deviate from it, the spider moved her way onto my finger and I moved gently to put her back up in the tree. Jordane groaned an awkward shudder. "What's the deal? I've seen you getting up close with spiders here to take pictures of them and they don't seem to bother you."

"Yeah, that's because they're not _on_ me," she amended. "I'm fine looking at spiders from a safe distance, as long as they're not crawling on me." As she spoke, she was combing her fingers through her long, semi-wet hair.

"Well, then I better keep you away from the mountain caves here," I said, smirking. "That's the territory of some of the largest tarantulas in the mountains." To my astonishment, she shrugged.

"Tarantulas, I can handle. I actually wouldn't mind if one crawled on me, I don't think."

I laughed. "So you freak out if a small house spider comes anywhere near you, yet you're perfectly content with the idea of a tarantula instead?"

Grinning, she giggled, giving another shrug. "They're beautiful and kind of cute. I think it must be their fuzzy bristles."

"You are strange," I chuckled, lying back in the grass. _I like it. _

"You're one to talk."

Thanks to Piccolo, Jordane was able to learn the restful art of meditation, something she had long convinced herself she had no mindset for, and yet once she and I perched ourselves on a tall cliff-side next to one of the many roaring waterfalls, she had her eyes closed and hadn't uttered a word within minutes.

Whenever I meditated, I only had one retreat; a bio-luminescent oasis I found a couple years ago, and a place I only went to alone, when I needed calm seclusion. I imagined myself laying in a grass by the small lake at night, the luminescent plants emanating a calming array of greens, blues, and purples, the stars sparkling above the canopy. For this session, I found myself there again, only something was different. I looked beside me, and Jordane was lying right by my side, just as she did whenever we bathed in the shade on sunny days. Her eyes were closed, but the corner of her lips was curved with a contented smile.

Next, I imagined her and I, running with the others in wolf pelt, leaping tens of feet into the air and across the ground; nipping, biting, playing, and tackling one another. We even threw all our heads back and broke out in a howling, staking claim on the night.

It was delightfully peculiar, how one new face in my group somehow made it feel complete. With Jordane on my right, Jade and Ian next to her, then Jasmine and Elliot, and Vince and Renea at my left completing the circle, my wolfen family felt whole.

Peeking my eye open to visit the current realm, I glanced across from Piccolo to see Jordane, still in a meditative stillness. I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking, what peaceful province she immersed herself in to achieve absolute calmness and content.

* * *

><p>The week blurred into a singular segment of montages and events; before we knew it, we tacked the horses up and rode back home. By which time we arrived, the land was painted orange and red with the sinking sun. Piccolo had returned to his domain, where he would stay until the tournament.<p>

"About time you all got back! Just in time, I was about to make dinner. Jordane! What's the matter?!" My mother focused on Jordane, who, after dismounting Stormy, was struggling not to limp or show any hampering in her walk.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she insisted, straightening her shoulders up so she didn't look so tense.

"Just what have you boys been doing to her?" I couldn't help but laugh sympathetically when my mother glared at Dad and I disapprovingly.

"Just intense training, is all," Dad said, scratching his head innocently with furrowed brows. "Intense" was an understatement. In the last few days we had before returning home, we kicked the pace of the training up, having Jordane use all she'd learned in several rounds of sparring duels, often with more than one of us attacking her at the same time. The girl had stamina and one hell of a punch, but the relentlessness of the training was finally catching up to her.

"Really, Chichi, I'm fine. Just a little stiff; nothing a hot shower won't cure," Jordane assured.

"Shower? Goodness, no, a good soak in a hot bath is what you need! Get inside and draw yourself a nice bath; there's bubble soap under the sink. And you two," Mother directed her eyes to my father and I, "You get yourselves washed up, you aren't going to come anywhere in that house all dirty and sweaty."

Since there was only the one bathroom in our house, and Jordane occupying it, we weren't going inside the house to bathe. "You know what to do," Dad said happily to me. Jordane stood in the doorway of the house, clueless, as my Dad fetched a large tin tub from the garage, large enough to be a small pool, and planted it right in front of the house on top of a circular dirt pit amongst the grass, on top of thick logs of firewood I had put down in a neat layout.

"You guys are going to bathe outside?"

"Yep!" Dad chirped as I carried the hose from the garage and flipped it on, filling the large tub.

"It's something we've always done," I explained, shrugging. Jordane smiled.

"All right, now get to soaking in that bath, young lady! The longer you wait, the sorer you're going to be!" Mom ordered, shooing Jordane into the house, leaving Dad and I to our own bath.

I used to take those baths all the way back to as soon as I could swim, enjoying a sunset or the black starry sky while submerged in hot water. It took Mom a while to get warmed up to the idea of leaving my father responsible for me in over six-feet-deep water, though.

"She's growing at a real good pace," Dad expressed, scooping water into his hands to splash in his hair. "I'm thinking this was a very good decision, bringing her here."

I hummed in vague agreement, my head laid back against the rim of the trough, watching the sky's rainbow colors fade to a dark blue sea. I could see the faint glimmer of stars, and the gibbous moon's luminosity was especially bright with the approaching full moon.

"I'm actually pretty excited to see her compete and showcase all she's learned! Heck, I'm sure she'd love to tag along for next year's tournament; that would be wonderful."

I wish I could have joined in on my father's one-sided conversation. The idea of Jordane competing in future tournaments was harmless, but how would it be? This was the first in over a week I'd slowed down to remind myself the real reason why I took her under my wing in the first place, and the conditions in which I agreed to. After this tournament, when Jordane was no longer in need of my guidance, and I cut her loose, it's going to be difficult enough keeping a strict, moderated friendship when it's been proven I enjoyed being around her more than I should, like I do Vince or Renea or any of the others.

At times, I couldn't help but wonder just how I intended to pull this all off in the first place, keeping my friendship with Jordane on loose emotional terms with no strings attached, while she stayed with me in my home for over a month, and was now a part of my pack… Seemed insensible and, at times, didn't make any sense…

_High school is almost over, and everyone is fanning out, remember? _In no time at all, my pack would be moving out and getting their own places, working toward their careers, and building their lives—Jordane included—and we wouldn't get to see each other at such liberty. It's simple, really; I made her a member of my pack so she could have a place of stability and belonging, not so she could be my friend. _You have your reasons and conditions for letting her be a part of all this, so you can stop going in circles about all this crap. _

"Yoo-hoo, earth to Gohan." I was startled out of my deep-thought trance when my father splashed water at my face; some of it almost went up my nose. "What's on your mind, son?"

I shook my head. "Just thinking."

"Obviously." Chortling, he relaxed again, looking out to the hillside. "What were you thinking about?" He always asked these questions lightly, because I very rarely had something simple going through my brain, and therefore can't explain my thoughts in any unadorned way. Still, I couldn't help but hang on to the sliver of hope that he might possibly understand this situation.

"I was just…thinking about what I'm going to do, after the tournament."

"What's happening after the tournament?"

I glanced back at the house; the door was closed, and I doubted Jordane would be getting out of her bath anytime soon. I chose my words carefully. "What I'll do with Jordane, I mean; after I discharge her from her lessons and let her go on with her life, while trying to spend as little time with her as possible."

The appalled look on my father's face didn't surprise me. "Why on earth would you want to stay away from her?"

I scratched my eyebrow, trying to form my words into a one-dimensional explanation he could comprehend. "I didn't bring her here to be friends and have a jolly good time, Dad. I brought her here to train her, to the point where she can live life in the real world and not have to worry about being able to control her powers. There is no purpose or reason for her to be around me and put herself at risk when I've taught her all she needs to know to go her own way."

"Put her at risk?"

"Come on, Dad," I said, looking up at him now with a somber gaze. "You yourself once said you believed you were a risk to the people you cared about because you seemed to be a magnet for destruction and chaos… Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but that little curse has passed on to me. You saw the whole thing from Other World, when Bojack raised hell at the Tournament three years ago, and how Vince and Renea were dragged into it, when they should have been on the sidelines, safe and out of harm. It was because of me; because I encouraged Vince to compete in the tournament, and they wanted to help me fight against those bastards, putting themselves in harm's way… I still haven't forgiven myself for it. And I—I don't want that to happen with Jordane. I won't let it."

My father stared at me with a solemn frown for many wordless minutes. To an outsider, it would have looked as if we were in a glaring contest, trying to make the other submit out of intimidation. "That's why you're going to push her away?"

"That's why I have to. That's why in some sick, horrible way, I'm glad that my friends are growing up and are on the verge of going their separate ways—away from me—so they can't be associated with me should disaster strike again. You and I both know all too well how our enemies love to hurt people we care about as leverage to expose our weakness."

"Why do you always think like that?"

"Like what?" My voice had a sharper edge to it; I didn't exactly appreciate how he could ask such a naïve question so carelessly, when he should have had a more than firm grasp on the aspect.

"Like trouble is always just around the corner?"

"Because it always is!" I seethed, baring my teeth.

"That's no reason to stop living," Dad insisted. "It's no reason to push friends away and be alone…" He tilted his head, his black brows furrowed. "Has that really all you've learned after all this time? Haven't I taught you that when you have times of peace, you shouldn't waste every day thinking about the bad stuff that may lie ahead and instead appreciate the good times you are given?"

Snorting a quiet huff from my nose, I jerked my head to a slight degree away from my father. I hated to argue with him. In fact, other than one incident when I turned fourteen, this was the only time I've ever so much as raised my voice or scowled at him. It was bound to happen sooner or later; our views had become rather different over the years.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't hold at least a small portion of bitterness and hurt when he left us—left me—after the Cell Games five years ago, as much as I despised myself in admitting it. The absence wound up being temporary, but for those three years—those years full of changes, stress, self-discovery, and growing up—I thought I would live the rest of my life without my father. That I wouldn't see him there when I graduated high school, got married and had children, or save the world…

And, good gods, Goten… Perhaps the worst of it other than facing the idea of my own future without Dad was explaining to my toddler brother that he would never know our father; I still remembered the moment he first asked me, "Where's Daddy" as soon as he was old enough to comprehend an inkling of the words.

All because he wanted to be a hero for mankind, because he wanted to discover new otherworldly power he couldn't obtain in life on earth, because he felt if he were out of the picture, the planet would be safe. Well, Bojack sure proved that theory was a load of bull; it was as effective as using alcohol to douse a fire.

As much as I wanted to despise my father for leaving me, my mother, and my brother for life, all based on a fantasy to save billions of strangers he'd never meet, I found myself inclined to make such a similar decision with my friends. Perhaps, despite how logic struggled to persuade me that it wouldn't make any guarantees, pushing away my friends was my version of staying away from Earth to protect others; that despite how hard I tried not to, I was prone to follow in my father's footsteps and hurt people in some form or another in my attempts to keep them safe.

"Never mind," I finally sighed, leaning back against the wall of the trough to look up at the dark sky.

A sudden outlet of light came from the house, and it was the front door opening. Jordane popped out from behind it, smiling at us, ever so ignorant as to the conversation I just had with my father only moments ago. My heart twisted in as much pain as it did with happiness in seeing her cheerful face.

"Enjoying yourselves?" she asked, sticking her hands in her pants pockets and idly walking up to us. Before Dad could answer, I jumped to the occasion.

"Always. Do you feel better now?"

"Oh yeah. I feel refreshed and relaxed…" She stretched, holding her arms above her head and arching her back. "I could actually just go to bed right now," she giggled, fighting off a yawn, I could tell.

"It'll be an early turn-in for all of us," I agreed.

"Not before we eat! You need to replenish your body after all that work," Dad said, his tone returning to its lighter mood.

"And after that, we'll take a few days off."

"A few days?" Jordane cocked a brow at me. "Why a few days?"

"Well, so you can recoup."

"So _I_ can recoup?" she inquired, her voice firming. "You're putting my training on hold just because I'm a little sore?"

I chuckled lightly, something I knew would irk her given the nature of the conversation. "Well, sure. We don't want break you."

"I don't 'break' easily," she reminded me, and the glare she wore was so haughty and impish, all I could do was grin. That in itself only stirred her up more, and her mouth puckered.

"Ah, don't worry, Jordane, he doesn't mean it," Dad intervened. "He's just having fun with you, is all."

I turned back for my dad with a half-sincere grin, more in a "Thank you, Mr. Obvious" manner than an inside joke.

In that brief instance when I was turned away from Jordane, I felt a forceful pressure on the top of my head shoving me down under the water. It startled me, but I had astute enough reflexes to catch my breath and hold it before I could inhale any water into my lungs. The forced submersion lasted only a few seconds and the pressure on my head was gone. When I resurfaced, I hastily turned to Jordane, who was backing away from the trough, shaking her right arm of water. She proudly displayed a victorious grin.

"If I wasn't naked, I'd be chasing you up and down this mountain for that," I said with a trace of laughter in my voice, pointing a finger at her as if to make my declaration more threatening. The crook of a grin wasn't helping with the whole effect, either.

"Well, guess I'm lucky, then." Devious joy was everywhere on her face; from the curled corners of her lips to the way the small fire shimmered in her eyes.

"Jordane, could you help me with this?" Mom called from the kitchen.

"Sure!" Beaming at us with a smile, Jordane returned to the house to help my mother with whatever she needed. Resting my chin upon my arm that lounged on the rim of the trough, I watched Jordane and Mom cook through the kitchen window.

"Good luck with that," Dad said softly, and I glanced at him to see him smiling an almost sympathetic smile. I said nothing in response, and tried to find something to focus my sights on to pass time, but my eyes kept returning to the kitchen window.

* * *

><p>That weekend, my family and I took part in our monthly tradition of going to the farmer's market just on the outskirts of the city, where fresh produce and exhibitions lay in booths and stands on either side of a long cement walkway.<p>

Jordane accompanied us, her camera hanging by its strap around her neck. She purchased plenty of her own fruits—most of them apples—while my mother got at least two of everything, even more of the particular things she knew we ate every day. Dad was left to do the carrying.

Goten grew bored easily, and I soon became a jungle-jim for his entertainment; he climbed on me, hung himself from me, and had me carry him. Jordane, walking on my left, watched with a little smirk on her face at my brother's restlessness.

I offered him to try various fruits and vegetables, but unless they tasted sweet and had a significant amount of sugar in them, he wouldn't touch it. Finally, after a while, he settled down and walked beside me, holding my hand. I'd lift him up off the ground and gently swing him by his arm, which was something Mom and I always used to do when he was even younger. So I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when he looked to Jordane and held his hand up for her to take.

"Jordane, swing me!"

She gawked at him, clueless for a few seconds before awkwardly glancing up at me. She got along so well with Goten that her discomfiture when dealing with children escaped me for a moment; everything she did with Goten was a first child-handling experience for her.

Letting her right hand fall in reach of his, he clasped his tiny hand around hers. I couldn't help but watch her adjust her grip around his hand, going from loose to squeezing a little more to get a good grip. She glanced at me bashfully, and together we synced our swaying arms until we both gained enough momentum to swing Goten's feet off the ground. He giggled and squealed happily, "Again!"

I didn't care to count how long Jordane and I must have swung and carried him; all I was aware of was my brother's happy laughter, his each hand somehow connecting the three of us in an unbreakable chain until we found ourselves standing at the car.

On the ride home, Goten grew tired with each minute. Dad was driving, Mom in the passenger's side, and Jordane and I sat in the back with Goten between us, which gave him the perfect access to use either one of us as his pillow.

Something peculiarly warm unraveled in my stomach when I saw Goten lean over toward Jordane, his head resting in her lap, while plopping his feet in mine.

That's where he contentedly slept through the entire drive home.

* * *

><p>"You sure you guys don't want to come?" Dad asked, almost imploring. I don't think he wanted to be in Capsule Corp all by himself with my mother, while Goten played with Trunks. I couldn't really blame him, but Mom insisted he go to "socialize". Jordane and I, however, were given the option to stay home and hold down the fort. With any luck, my mother may have missed visiting with Bulma and getting out of the house to the point she'd want to spend a night in the city. A quiet house sounded sublime.<p>

"Yeah, we'll keep an eye on things here," I encouraged them. "Goten, you have fun, okay?" Perhaps the hopefulness and pleasure in my tone was too apparent, but I couldn't help myself. Jordane grinned at me from where she sat on the couch, obviously amused.

"We'll keep in touch!" Mom chirped happily as she and Dad and Goten went out the door. From the time that door closed, blissful peace exploded in the air around me. Sighing, I went to the couch and plopped down on the cushion next to Jordane.

"Wow," she said with a slight chuckle.

"What?"

She set her pencil down on her sketchpad, which she had in her lap. "I can't believe that your mother just walked out of this house, leaving you alone with a girl, possibly all night. If it were me—not that there would be a chance in hell my mom would leave me home alone with a guy—she would sit us both down for a lecture, a sex talk, told us to 'behave ourselves' and that she would call every half hour."

I grinned lazily. "My parents are both blissfully ignorant that way—even my mother."

"Awesome. Then let's party; get wasted and do naughty things."

Jordane's little sarcastic proposal was impossible to not snicker at. "That is just so not right, coming from you," I chortled. She grinned with me.

"I know, right? I can't even imagine what my mother's reaction would have been to that, even if my voice was thick as honey with sarcasm."

As I smiled empathetically, the mood diminished within seconds. "Your mom is quite hypersensitive when it comes to you." This wasn't a question; I could discern from my brief meetings with Debb Teague and what Jordane has told me about her to know she was an overprotective, shielding parent, levels beyond and varied from my own parents.

"Yeah," Jordane sighed, slouching in her seat. "I guess that just comes with being a single parent. She has to do both jobs at once. In the recent year, she's been really on my case and it's kind of hard to level with her."

"Well, even though it can get on your nerves at times, obviously her methods are working," I amended, tilting my head in her direction. "You're a good kid, you do as you're told, you don't get into trouble…"

"I may be a good kid, but look at what I'm doing now," she objected, with a neutral tone I couldn't recognize as either shameful or contrite.

"This," I said, gesturing my hand in a circle between us and my house, "isn't hurting anybody. As much as we both hate lying to your mom, this is something that is only helping you grow and smooth out issues that you probably would have continued having if you ignored them. Your mom wouldn't have let you do it because she doesn't understand; she may prefer if you not be involved in martial arts or anything of the like, but at least with me, you aren't getting hurt or turning into something you're not. She wouldn't have been helping you at all by keeping you from this opportunity, and living under the blind misconception that everything is perfectly fine." I hoped perhaps hearing the way I perceived the whole issue would bring some peace to her obviously troubled mind. Considering that she talked with her mother daily, it was inevitable to see her anxious at some point during the day.

She nodded to show she understood, and began tapping her pencil lightly on her sketchbook. Out of the blue, she looked around the room. "It is nice and quiet here," she finally said, with a similar relief to mine when my parents were out the door.

"Yeah, it isn't too often I get the house to myself." In my peripheral, I could see Jordane glancing at me awkwardly.

"Do you mind me being here?"

"Of course not," I blurted. "If anything, it's nice to have quiet company for once. Although…" I turned my head to look around the stagnant house. "…Just sitting here doesn't sound too promising while the parents are out. We should do something fun…" As to what that was, I didn't know. It was easy deciding what to do when I was with my group, because everybody had an input, but with just one another person…the pressure was more persuasive.

Jordane began rummaging through her backpack, something she carried around with her even in the house, as it held her computer and all her art supplies. Out from it came her black and silver laptop. "When stuck in a rut, watch YouTube videos," she said, pulling up the web browser.

Taking care in not to get too intimately close, I scooted nearer to her so I could see the screen she had perched in her lap. Together, we began browsing through random videos, in no particular order or category, only clicking on titles that sounded promising. More often than not, each video would turn out to be a winner, and we both found ourselves busting our guts with laughter within minutes.

Outside the house, thunder growled lazily in the distance. The weathermen had been calling for a summer storm the past few days; guess it finally decided to roll in.

Eventually we treaded in the territory of video game walkthroughs, and one player had an entertaining, comedic commentary while playing a horror game; we were both tearing up by the time he was screaming bloody murder like a woman at random jump-scares.

"Oh my god," Jordane wheezed, gasping for air in failed attempts. Watching her struggle with all her might to stop laughing—and failing at it—only rendered me helpless to my own uncontrollable case of giggles.

Out of nowhere, I had no idea what sparked it, but I had the desire to listen to Jordane sing. I recalled the night I watched her in her room, lost in a creative stupor of songwriting.

"Hey," I said once our laughing spell had dissipated. "You said you played in a band, right? You were the vocals?"

Shrugging, she tilted her head curiously. "Yeah, the main vocals. Why?"

"Well, I'd actually like to hear how you sing," I answered innocently, analyzing her expression as she absorbed my words. Finally she tittered shyly.

"Er…I've never really sang in front of anyone else other than my band before…"

_Good, I want to be the first._ "It's just me! Come on," I egged harmlessly.

"I don't know what I'd sing!" she said with a breathy laugh.

_I know… _Getting up from the couch, I walked over to our entertainment center shelf, kneeling down to bring out the Nintendo Wii console. In the back of the small pile of games was a case that still had the wrapping on it. "I think this is a karaoke game… We've never played it because, well, it just isn't our thing, but Jasmine still bought it for me for Christmas, anyways." I shrugged. "But supposedly, it's got one of the largest libraries of music of any game."

As I held the game up for her to see, she smiled awkwardly. "I don't know…"

Firing up the console, I stuck the game in anyways, handing her the controller and microphone prop that came with the game's package. There was that look in her eyes again, that twinge of nervousness that I hadn't seen in weeks.

I sat down in the expansive lounging chair, watching her sift through the gallery folders of various genres of music. In the Featured and Popular list, she bypassed almost all of them with very little interest showing in her expression.

What she settled on with great zeal was a number I didn't expect. By the time she selected it, I didn't get a chance to read the title or artist to see just what song could have possibly merited a happy gasp from her. So, I waited as the playing screen loaded, and she put the fake microphone to her mouth, still a little stiff.

The first notes that exploded from the speakers caught me off guard at first, but I quickly recognized the theme after a few seconds, and then, Jordane began to sing.

"You look like an angel…Walk like an angel… Talk like an angel… But I got wise."

Elvis Presley's "_Devil in Disguise_". The song was so unexpected and odd to pair with her that all I could do was grin in amused disbelief as she sang it in a low baritone, which she pulled off well with her natural tomboy's tone.

"You're the devil in disguise, oh, yes you are." With each lyric she sang, her body loosened and began to sway and jerk to the tune of the music. Vintage video of Elvis' performances had a great deal of influence in her motion, I was also sure.

By the time the guitar solo came around, she dropped her stance with the microphone and proceeded to "air-guitar" through the notes, her fingers hitting each invisible chord the way a hand that was intimate with a guitar would maneuver.

When the song was over, she looked at me, gauging my reaction. For the first few minutes, all I could do was look and smile at her, until I began to slow-clap. "Wow. That…has got to be the best performance I have ever witnessed."

Laughing, she bowed. "Thank you, thank you very much," she said, letting her voice fall to a tone that imitated Elvis' as she took a bow.

Turning back for the screen, she browsed through more music. "Ooh, there's no way I can play this without singing this song!" She selected the next one, which gave away its title in the few notes of a guitar introduction.

"I saw him dancing there by the record machine. I knew must have been about seventeen…" All I could do was smile as Jordane not only sang this song that was far beyond our time, but as she became comfortable, she let the music move her; she bumped her hips and jolted her shoulders to the tune as she sang. She was finally enjoying herself, and that was awesome to watch.

"The beat was going strong, playing my favorite song. And I could tell it wouldn't be long 'til he was with me. And I could tell it wouldn't be long 'til he was with me, yeah me, singin' I love rock n' roll! So put another dime in the jukebox, baby! I love rock n' roll, so come and take your time and dance with me!" A second later, "OW!"

I was shaking my head in complete awe of the show she was putting on. When I'd known her up to this point to be quiet, reserved, and not too outgoing, there she was standing with a rocker's carriage, singing a classic rock song like it was as natural as speaking.

Apparently, two songs was her fill of performing for the day; she called it quits after 'I Love Rock N' Roll', sitting back down on the couch with me. "You sing pretty good," I praised. "A fan of the old hits?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. My mom always had old music playing when I was a kid; whenever she was cleaning the house, she'd play Elvis Presley's songs, and I was often in the same room with her and listened."

"My mother used to play piano for me when I was a kid, mostly before bed, to get me sleepy. Now she does the same thing with Goten."

Jordane smiled, leaning her head against the cushion. "Really? That's awesome. One of my cousins taught me to play piano; she sings, too, so that's kind of where I caught on to that."

"Was she your inspiration to join a band, too?"

"No; that was actually a…'friend' of my mother's who popped back into her life a few years ago. He's an entertainer, goes to small venues to sing his own songs and karaoke. He played guitar, as well, so he bought me my guitar for my thirteenth birthday, heard me and my friend Sara singing together and from there he encouraged us to start a musical group with our friends, so…"

"Ah. A 'friend', huh?" I couldn't ignore the obvious tone in her voice when she referred to this man. Just from that little sentence alone, the situation sounded like an old ex of her mother's trying to worm his way into their lives by guying her trinkets and goods to build a relationship. I don't mean that in the bitter or critical sense; it's something I couldn't help but analyze.

Jordane shrugged. "Yeah, I just call him that, even though it was clearly evident they were dating… It was pretty brief, though."

"Why didn't it work out?"

"He had issues with commitment, as far as sticking with the whole 'settling down and staying in one place in one relationship' concept. He and my mother dated off-and-on for many years before my dad ever came into the picture. It's just one of those things that wasn't mean to be, I suppose, but it took this last time for my mom to finally see that and just close the door and that relationship." She didn't sound the least bit upset about it; rather, it seemed to perplex her more than anything.

Deviating from the subject, I revisited the idea of Jordane playing the piano… "How about you play a little something on the piano? Sing a song you wrote, maybe?" I didn't realize my little slip of the tongue until she looked at me a little quizzically.

"How'd you know I write songs?"

_Oh you know, I just sat outside your bedroom window one night watching you like a stalker. _Cynical mental quip aside, I quickly fished for an explanation. "I could have sworn you mentioned it to me a while ago, when you told me you played in a band with your friends… Or maybe I assumed you did because of the fact, I don't know." Adding an awkward chuckle at the end of my sentence hopefully masked my blunder with a gesture of embarrassment. Thankfully for me, she didn't dwell on the subject and dismissed it with a light shrug of the shoulder.

"Well, I do write songs, but none of them are completed or ready to be heard," she said, her fingers fidgeting with her hair the way she tended to do whenever she wanted to convey humbleness or shyness toward a subject. I didn't pursue it.

"So…the piano's upstairs, right?"

"Yes."

Getting up, I followed Jordane upstairs to the attic, and in the back of the room across from her bed was our old family piano, where my mother occasionally sat to play Goten a nighttime tune.

I took a seat beside Jordane on the bench, leaving a comfortable enough gap for breathing room. She placed her small-fingered hands on the keys, letting them idle there for a moment as she thought of a song to play. Intrigued when she didn't even bother to look through the tattered old booklet on the rack, I watched carefully as her petite fingers moved across the keys, pressing gently to make a rhythmic tune.

"This is a song that's become a recent favorite of mine," she noted fondly, keeping her eyes down on the key bed. Her face softened as the music spread through her like a calming stream.

In a soft croon I recognized all too, well, she commenced the song. "You shout hello, but I can't hear a word you say. I'm talking loud, not saying much. I'm criticized, but all your bullets ricochet. You shoot me down, but I get up. I'm bullet-proof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away. Ricochet, take your aim. Fire away, fire away. You shoot me down, but I won't fall. I'm titanium. Shoot me down, but I won't fall. I'm titanium."

Her comely face was like putty to the song, shifting and morphing to genuine expressions of melancholy vindication and bittersweet strength as she sang each lyric. "Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall. Ghost town, haunted love. Raise your voice, but sticks and stones may break my bones. I'm talking loud, not saying much. I'm bullet proof, nothing to lose, fire away, fire away. Ricochet, take your aim. Fire away, fire away. Shoot me down, but I won't fall. I'm titanium. Shoot me down, but I won't fall; I'm titanium. Stone-hard, machine gun, firing at the ones who run. Stone hard, as bullet-proof glass."

As the keys slowed to a delicate volume, Jordane's voice dropped to an even softer pitch. "You shoot me down, but I won't fall. I'm titanium. Shoot me down, but I won't fall…I'm titanium."

Her hands stilled over the keys, concluding the song. "So…that's that."

I was perfectly aware of the smile I had on my face; I didn't want to restrain it. "The song suits you." Indeed, it did. If I hadn't heard original the song myself recently, I would have assumed she wrote it. Then again, I'm very familiar with songs that seemed to speak my mind lyric for lyric, as if it was written for me or by me. It's an intriguing concept.

Heading back downstairs, I switched on the news, just to get my weekly update of things going on in the city. With each bulletin and story, I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn't hear of another dead or raped girl. Before I could hide the anxiety from my face, Jordane caught on.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just…relieved."

"Relieved? For what?"

I let myself lean back against the couch cushions, allowing my spine to relax. "Remember when I told you Chase does some sick stuff to girls? Well, in the past few months, he's upped his sick tendencies by killing a couple of the girl's he's had his way with… I gave him a warning a couple months ago, but…" I shrugged, unable to find anything else to add.

"If he's that bad, why haven't you…"

"Killed him?"

Jordane was mute for a second before she confirmed humbly, "Yeah."

I rubbed my face with my hands, exhaling into my palms as they fell. "I don't know… You'd think I'd be able to, since I did away with his brother a couple years ago for doing a lot of the same things."

"Whoa… So, is that why he hates you, because you killed his brother?"

"It's the main reason, yes. The other reason is just that he hates my 'goodie-two-shoes' guts."

She snickered with me. "You sound like you get that reason a lot."

"It's definitely a familiar treatment; from Chase to my cousin Sid, they all seem to hate me for the same reason. And I really could care less. It's not as if I respect their opinions any."

Thunder clapped loudly above the house, and the sweet smell of rain seeped in through the open window. Beside me, Jordane inhaled deeply and hummed. "I've missed the smell of rain…and the sound of thunder."

As if the gods could hear her, the skies purred. "Well, you're in luck, 'cuz the weather channel's been calling for this thunderstorm for a week now."

"Luck" wasn't exactly what the night had in store for us, we soon discovered, when the power in the house flickered and wavered after frequent strikes of bold whiteness flashed outside. Thinking a step ahead, I rummaged through our storage closet to find our battery-powered lantern, candles, and a battery-powered mini-television. Being werewolves, either one of us could have seen in the dark fine, but really, who wanted to sit in a blackened house with no light source anyways?

My timing was impeccable, for as soon as I gathered everything we needed, the power expired. The individual tower Bulma's family had constructed for our house was an infallible beacon for lightning strikes. It was a surprise the darn thing could still work with as often as we had to repair it.

I told Jordane to go ahead and get the living room situated to make us a comfortable lounging area for the night while I went to check on the horses. Though I could get to the barn and back at the house within seconds, I formed up a protective energy shield around me, just in case.

We didn't keep our horses caged in stalls; that wasn't something I believed in, so to each of the open stalls there were partially covered pens, for those rare occasions in which we needed to confine the horses in the smallest form.

I wasn't surprised in the least when I went into the barn and found each horse already in their stalls. Neither of them were too wet, so it was safe to say they took cover as soon as the storm commenced. Of course they didn't need me to come chasing them across the pasture to put them under protective cover. They stood quietly and at ease with their back legs cocked, as if the deafening thunder and flashes of lightning meant nothing.

I closed the gates to the pens, and dropped a generously portioned flake of hay in each stall to give them something to munch on while being turned in for the night.

When I crossed back into the threshold of the house, I found myself in pleasant awe of the setup Jordane had prepared. On the carpeted throw rug, she had the comforter from her bed and spare blankets from the linens closet beneath the stairs, with pillows sprawled in random spots; the lantern was all that was on, but I quickly fixed that by lighting a few candles.

Taking a step back to take it all in, I couldn't refute that the atmosphere felt utterly cozy and, dare I say, rather intimate; like a set up you'd see in a romance movie. Getting past that, it was actually soothing, especially once I'd sat back down and messed around with the little TV and settled it to a channel playing a countdown show of dumb individuals partaking in dumb stunts. It kept us entertained for a while.

As I laughed, a white light pulsated by my face for a couple seconds; I looked over to see Jordane holding her camera, smirking. "Why do you like taking pictures of me so much?" I asked with an awkward chuckle.

She shrugged. "Because you're interesting. Plus, you don't smile that big very often, and I wanted to get it on film."

So I had another chronic picture-taker on my hands. Renea and Jasmine had to take pictures of every place our group ever hung out, and multiple pictures at that, of us in group shots and individual portraits. Renea was more intense at it, though; she says she never wants even one tiny moment to go un-captured, so memories could always be there to tangibly gaze back on. I could appreciate that.

Somewhere in the midst of watching the show, I found myself entertaining both mine and Jordane's curiosity by posing for pictures. We had nothing else better to do.

It started out as angled pictures, managing to get the both of us in the frame while we weren't necessarily close together. Then I instigated a closer arrangement, sitting right beside her so our arms were touching. Striking varied expressions on our faces with each shutter shot, no two pictures looked the same.

Then came the silly poses in general; Jordane arranged herself above me so her chin was resting on the top of my head. In the next photo we took side-by-side, I slipped two fingers above her head for bunny ears. When she saw it on the display screen, she punched me in the arm.

After our little photo-shoot was over, I retrieved something from my room.

"I want to show you something," I said, laying back beside her on the floor. I placed the small object—a circular, flat pod the size of my palm—onto the floor between us. I pressed the button in the center and the little trinket blinked to life, emitting thin rays of faint blue light.

Above us was a three-dimensional, digital map of space—all of space, far beyond our galaxy and solar system. I remembered seeing Jordane's awe-struck reaction to the space dome in the museum field trip we took last month in school; I knew this smaller yet more detailed replica would merit the same response.

Sure enough, she gawped up at the digital canvas that painted itself across the ceiling above us. "Bulma made this for me ten years ago, after we came back from our trip to the planet Namek. That's Namek, right there," I then said, pointing to a planet swirled with ribbons of green and blue. "The old planet Namek, the one that was destroyed by Frieza, wasn't as far as the newer one the Namekians settled on." I eventually switched off the little television so that it was quiet; the only thing surrounding us was the candles and the galactic chart.

"How many light-years away is Namek? The new one, I mean?"

"About five gigaparsecs, I think we calculated it at."

"Gigaparsecs?" Jordane repeated in awe. "What the heck is that?"

Smiling, I looked back up at the starry canvas. "The term 'light-year' is thrown around too often when people think of space travel and distance. There's a ladder; parsecs are about three times vaster than a singular light-year, megaparsecs are a million light-years, and then gigaparsecs are a billion light-years." When I looked at her, she looked to be on the border of astonishment, but then caught herself, as if having to make a note that this was me she was talking about.

"And which text book did you swallow that time?" she smirked, and I laughed.

"_Deciphering the Mysteries of Infinite_ by Dr. Briefs," I answered as a matter-of-factly, which made her bust out laughing. Such a beautiful sound.

After catching her breath, she asked, "What's space like?" Enthrallment seeped through her sweet voice. Smiling, I closed my eyes and pictured myself inside that spaceship once again, gazing out the circular window as we broke past Earth's atmosphere and emerged into space for the first time. I tried to bring back the exact memory of it; the brilliance of the stars against the blackness of space, random ribbons of shimmering colors, the complete soundlessness…

"It's…like being submerged in a black, infinite sea of stars and silence. It's overwhelming, because what you see in front of you is spectacular at such a grand scale it's hard enough to wrap your head around it, but to grasp the fact that it's only a grain of salt in comparison to what lies beyond what you can see…it's just mind-boggling."

Beside me, Jordane hummed. "I hope I can have a chance to experience that…"

I couldn't deny her the opportunity as much as I could deny her the hope. "There isn't any reason why you wouldn't be able to. That's the perks of having one of the world's richest families of technological pioneers as family friends."

A few wordless minutes had passed before she asked me another question, one that required more of a thoughtful answer. "Hypothetically…let's say we knew for the rest of our lives, the earth is never in trouble again by super-powerful beings; how would you feel about that?"

No one had ever asked me something to that effect before, and I never bothered to ponder on the idea to any serious extent. The idea was as depressing as it was stupidly hopeful.

"To live my life without any more interference by villainous tyrants…if I had that promise, it would be such a heavy burden lifted off my shoulders and mind." I wasn't looking at her, yet the side of my face gave away something Jordane easily caught onto.

"Why do I feel there's a 'but' to be added?"

"As much as of a relief it would be—as much as I often dream for total peace…I think a part of me would be driven crazy with the lack of chaos. As sick as it is, I don't know if having nothing to do other than _live_ would be as fulfilling as it sounds." I scoffed at myself. "I must sound absolutely mental."

"I'm not going to lie, you do," Jordane admitted sheepishly, surprising me a little bit. "But…it makes sense. I mean, fighting and galactic war have been your life for twelve years; it can't be something you easily move on from should it all cease to exist."

"That's the thing, though. It has been in my life for twelve years; I should be sick of it by now, I should not care about what it'll feel like having no reason to train or fight. I should just want there to be peace—for the world, for my family, for myself… I love peace when I have it in the short sprouts that I do, but everlasting peace over a lifetime, I just don't know. That primal side of me that comes from being a Saiyan is almost relieved when it's time to fight again, it allows me a release, and I don't know what'd I do without it."

"Like I said, it makes sense," Jordane assured me softly, her voice strangely comforting. It's the feeling of solace that compelled me to realize then and there that I'd never gone off on the subject to anyone before; because no one asked, because everyone always walked on egg-shells when it came to bringing up my past, or even the more than likely possibility it'll continue plaguing my future—everyone, except Jordane. She wasn't afraid to ask me those questions, and it wasn't because she didn't care or wanted to be indelicate; she knew I could handle the mention of things that already lingered on my mind to the point it just didn't hurt anymore. If anything, she was as intrigued with it all as much as she was empathetic.

Just the mere fact that she didn't look at me like some damaged creature was liberating; it made me feel, for once in my life, that I was a sliver of a normal person, who could carry on a conversation or hang out with friends without feeling alien, put out of place by the silent pity someone carried in their words and looks.

The spontaneous urge I had to smile was too persuasive to ward off.

"What's the smile for?" Jordane asked, the trace of a smile in her voice.

"Nothing."

"Come on," she ushered with an encouraging tone.

_You shouldn't say it. _I knew I shouldn't. I was going to anyway. "I'm just…really thankful I have you for a friend." I had to tilt my head to look at her, I wanted the gravity of my words to be felt through my face. She pursed her lips, her eyes shifting between me and the ceiling.

"Funny, isn't it… I'm sure two months ago you wouldn't have dreamed of feeling that gratitude toward me."

I snickered. "Two months ago, you and I were having a little competition as to whose skull was thicker."

"Isn't that the truth," she giggled.

"I think you won," I said, grinning wide.

"Nah-ah, you definitely won!"

"Let's call it a draw."

"Fair enough." I watched as Jordane shifted onto her side, so she was fully facing me. The twelve inches of space between us felt wholly intimate; I could feel her breath faintly on the skin of my neck. "For what it's worth, I'm thankful to have you as a friend, too. And I don't think there's anyone else I'd want to be stuck in a blackout in the middle of the mountains with other than you."

The genuine honesty and affection in her voice was so pure that it hurt. I should have been scared of it—scared for her, scared for myself—but I couldn't muster the heart to feel anything else toward it other than contentment.

We stayed there like that, stargazing at the digital canvas of space until somewhere in that time our eyes shut and we let ourselves submerge beneath the heaviness of sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A nice 18-page long Gohan chappie! Yay! Wow, we're just about halfway through Black Mon now, at 280-some pages! The tournament is just a few more chapters away, too! *dance***

**I'm going to have lots of fun writing the next few chapters…hehehe… Gohan's going to be breaking a lot of his own rules… ;) But of course there's going to be a lot more back and forth, so…don't get your hopes up too much lol **

**Aaaand that little nearly pointless scene with the Son family going to the farmer's market…I HAD to write a bit where Gohan and Jordane hold Goten's hands and swing him and they have a whole little special bonding moment…I just HAD to do it! The cheesiness meter is off the charts, but I couldn't resist! As for the home-alone-during-a-storm…I just wanted to put in a scene where Gohan and Jordane have fun like normal teenagers, no training. ^-^**

**As always, thank you to my awesome readers! If you head to my Bio here, there will be a link to Spotify, where I have my Black Moon playlist all ready to go! I'll be adding more songs whenever I come across good ones, of course, so be sure to follow! **

**And yes, as you can see below…I put an Elvis Presley song in a DBZ-related playlist…just cuz I can :P Oh, and if it hasn't been made clear yet, I arrange these songs in the order of events I see them playing in or representing. Just a random note :) **

**- J**

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	31. 30: Breaking The Shell

**30. Breaking the Shell**

**_Jordane_**

In the days that ensued, my training intensified. If I wasn't learning a new skill, then I was finding ways to hone and improve the skills I already had on hand. With each morning, I found myself awaking with an even greater sense of reinvigoration. Colors appeared more vivid, smells more potent, sensations more fervent, sounds more beautiful… All in all, I felt…lighter.

I'd been there for four weeks, nearly five; the tournament was two weeks away, and after that I would have to return to my house and attempt to regain my perspective on living a "normal" life with this newfound sense of control over my own powers. As much as I looked forward to being at home with my mother, my pets, and exercising my new sense of control in everyday life, I dreaded leaving Gohan's house.

This place was doing something to me… I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I suppose it was similar to the healing effect of a vacation, yet this was far from being such a thing. No, this wasn't a vacation, neither was it a break of any sort. Still, it was a retreat away from the dull mundane likeness of my half-witted life. Whether I was meditating in the middle of the silent forest, working myself to the point I felt exhausted, or basking in the lighthearted, joyous glow of Gohan's family, I was getting acquainted with a part of myself I never realized I had been keeping caged.

It'd been so long since I felt total and utter tranquility, that I couldn't help but wonder if I even had it to begin with back in Washington.

I was in a place where I could belong, in every sense of the word.

I didn't want that to ever go away.

* * *

><p>Clubbing… The term was foreign to me. Though I should have known by now that such activities weren't uncharted to my new pack, I still couldn't fight off the fluttering nerves that invaded my stomach when Gohan said we were meeting up with the others at Renea's house to go out for a night on the town—the first stop being a club downtown—before we would spend the rest of the night together for the Full Moon Turning, as a pack.<p>

_It's always a new adventure with these guys… _

Gohan and I flew to Renea's house, and even from the sky it looked enormous. I only ever saw it once, at a distance, from the stables, but had never stepped foot inside. It was a modest mansion, but a mansion nonetheless.

It was beautiful slate stone and white wood with black trim. The entryway was made of etched stone, with an archway and overhang. The front and courtyard was somehow as simple as it was elegant, if that was even possible; the yard was cut neatly, with colorful flowers planted the entire length of the driveway and round-a-bout parking lot, and in the center of the circle was a patch of grass and a fountain. Taking a quick glance into the water, I was tickled to find a few koi swimming, varying in colors of yellow, cream, red, orange, and even black. I would have loved to sit there and watch them, but we had other matters to attend to.

After knocking on the mahogany door, it didn't take long at all for someone to answer. The face belonged to none other than Renea's mother, Vicki. "Gohan! And Jordane, so wonderful to see you again!" The woman's beaming kindness was irrefutable and rather contagious; I couldn't help but smile just as wide and just as bright. "Come on in, the others are in the den. Don! Come here!"

The foyer was massive; on either side of its spherical form were a set of white marble and iron-railed staircases that curved with the walls, with an archway to the rest of the house straight in between them. A pair of double-doors to my right slid open, and Don emerged from them. Judging from his professional attire and the presence of glasses on his face, he must have been occupying himself with whatever business doctors do when they're working at home.

"Gohan, Jordane, so good to see you two again," he greeted, giving Gohan a pat to the shoulder. He then offered his hand to me in a handshake, wearing that benign smile. "How've you been, my dear?"

"Very good. And yourself?"

"Busy."

A sudden wave of noise and clamor made its way into the room, and from behind the wall came the boys, with the girls following suit. I watched the boys greet Gohan with brotherly gestures of head rubs, hand clasping, and masculine embraces.

"Hey, there, lil' sis," Vince said, and before I knew it I was caught in the circle of his firm arms as he picked me up in a choke of a hug. The way he addressed me—"lil sis"—made my insides swell with warmth. "Well, judging by the fact you're up and walking, you're surviving the training all right," he said, setting me down on my feet.

I half-laughed at his implication. "Yeah, it's been a breeze," I assured him. As if to get Gohan's opinion on it, his eyes fluttered over to him, smirking.

"She's getting by okay," Gohan contradicted with a playful indifference. I served him a punch to the arm. By the time the girls greeted us, I'd expected to start heading out the door—if Jasmine hadn't spoken out.

"That's what you're wearing?" she asked me, brows raised above naturally narrow eyes. I glanced down at myself instinctively, but I found nothing wrong with my attire; after all, how could you go wrong with a crisp band tee-shirt, skinny jeans, and heavy-soled boots, with a wristband or two?

"What about what I'm wearing?" I blurted before I took a good look at how the other girls were dressed—completely opposite as I was. Knowing Jasmine, it didn't shock me the tiniest bit that she wore a real flashy evening dress that rode up her thighs, which were covered in black tights and topped off by ridiculous stiletto heels. However, seeing Renea and Jade dolled up in close-fitting tunics, skirts, and tights, complete with heels was a bit of a blow.

"We're going clubbing, Jordane; it isn't a tee-shirt-and-jeans sort of event," Jasmine explained, dissecting my inferior wardrobe with her critical eyes.

"Awh, come on, let her wear what she wants." Vince standing up for me gave me a small sliver a hope that Jazz would drop the subject and leave me be; a sliver of hope that withered as both she and Renea came to either side of me, gently taking hold of my arms.

"You need to change," Renea insisted, and the two began pulling me toward the left staircase.

"Wha—no, guys, really! Why is it such a big deal?" I couldn't deny I was getting a little irritated. They've never done this to me before, and though rare, I didn't enjoy in any sense having my taste in fashion dissected by a couple teenage fashion queens.

"Jordane, this is your first time clubbing, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, you should look the part! Besides, indulge that undiscovered part of yourself, come out of your shell a little bit." Then, they stopped pulling on me and turned to Gohan, my last hope. "Gohan, you don't mind if we borrow Jordane for a little bit, do you?"

Glaring at him, silently telling him with my eyes to say yes, I knew he was leaving me for dead when he smirked. "Nah, go ahead."

_I'm going to kill you, _would have been the words out of my mouth, if the girls weren't hauling me up the stairs before I could speak to him. I suppose I could have easily subdued them, but as peeved as I was at this new development, I couldn't find the heart to use my strength and overpower them.

"Guys, no," I wailed hopelessly, "I don't do dress-up!"

"Girl, come on. Like Renea said, you need to break out of your shell sometime, might as well start now!" Jazz persisted.

"You'll come out alive, don't worry," Jade assured me, trotting behind us as we made our way across the open-railed balcony and down the hall to Renea's suite of a bedroom. It was very Renea; three of the four walls were a smooth jade-green, while the wall her bed leaned against was a deep magenta pink. On her four-post bed, she had a fishnet drape—something I wanted to have for my own bed—and her desk was relatively small, the wall adjacent to it covered with sketches of her creativity in fashion. In one far corner, was what I could only perceive as a workstation, where she brought her creative sketches to life.

It wasn't until I saw the closet did I feel like I'd stepped out of a teenage girl's bedroom and into a freaking outlet store. The walk-in wardrobe was massive in of itself—the size of my old bedroom—and every inch of it had shelves, slots, and racks filled with shirts, dresses, pants, skirts, shoes, and other accessories.

Jasmine let me go, but Renea continued to hold my hand and directed me to the back of the closet, where racks of very new clothes hung. They all smelled generic and not of the rest of the house, as if they were all fresh from the department stores.

"Here," she said. "These are all clothes I haven't had a chance to wear yet. Since we're the same size, you shouldn't have a problem finding something that fits."

"You've been deceiving me all this time," I said with a humorous edge, "All this time, I thought you were a laid-back tomboy as far as this stuff."

Giggling, Renea smirked at me. "I'm still a girl, Jordane."

"Obviously."

"Come on!" she encouraged me, gesturing for the massive rack of clothes I had to choose from. "Though my collection is more…elaborate, you and I have similar tastes in style; I'm sure you'll find something you like."

With Jazz and Jade standing at the entrance of the closet, it was obvious I wasn't walking out of here without a new, spruced-up wardrobe. So, I finally shut my mouth and began sifting through the various shirts, not really sure where to even start or what I would even consider wearing.

After picking and putting back various "safe" articles of clothing neither of the girls disapproved of, I finally caught an ensemble that was pleasing to my eye; a white tank-top with the shadowed design of a bare tree, its wicked-looking branches reaching across the chest area.

"You can't pick just that," Jasmine said, in which she then went through a drawer nearby and tossed a pair of black hose, followed by a skirt. Obviously pleased with herself, she smiled. "We'll give you some privacy to change." With that, they all left me to myself, closing the door behind them.

_Good grief, _I sighed to myself as I slipped on the hose, which turned out to be the type that had pre-made tears and parts in its mesh. If anything, this ensemble reminded me of what I wore to dinner with Gohan.

The black and purple punk-skirt was nice, too; it didn't flare out too much, and it had a small chain and silver rings. The length of the skirt itself was far from generous, though, and if it weren't for the fact I was wearing rather solid-colored tights, I would have put the skirt back right there and picked out something else.

The shirt I was charmed by turned out to have a couple surprises. Its collar hung pretty low, to the point the tip of my cleavage was peeking out. It wasn't too outrageous, but my modesty wasn't letting this new little fashion trend settle in too well. Neither did it help that the sleeveless loops under my arms were rather exaggerated as well, sinking to the point a portion of the wing straps of my black bra were visible on either side. The lower half of the loosely-fitting tank itself was in fact transparent; starting from just under my chest, the white faded to a translucent opaqueness to the point my abs and belly button were easily discernible.

I groaned, looking myself in the mirror again at all angles to make sure the outfit didn't reveal anything more of me I preferred to keep covered.

The outfit wasn't the worst or most revealing; it was probably something more suitable for girls a couple years older, but I couldn't bring myself to think it was offensive or shocking. Just about every part of my body was covered except my underarms and my collar area, and my stomach, despite being visible, was still covered…

_Well, it's either this, or go back to shopping. _When I revealed my new "look" to the girls, they hollered and squealed in delight. Thankfully, they were letting me keep my biker-boots. I would have to open a can of ass-kicking if they tried to get me into a pair of high-heels…

"Over here." Jasmine steered me over to the full-body mirror on the wall next to Renea's closet, and she looked over my reflection with calculating eyes until, finally, they rested on my face—or, more particularly, my hair. Next I knew, she was running a brush through it, and using her fingers she combed it up into some sort of messy bun. "Hey, your hair's turning brown!" she peeped with intrigue.

"Oh, yeah," I considered, looking at my roots where the black and red was fading back to my natural brown pigment. "I'm actually kind of tired of the black hair, ready to go back to _au naturel_."

"Awesome," Renea said. "I can't wait to see what you look like with your natural hair color."

_Yeah, me too. _Although I'd only had this black-and-red color scheme for less than five months, it's felt like an eternity since I glanced in the mirror and saw my normal-looking self. I almost forgot as to what I even looked like with brown hair…

It just didn't feel…necessary anymore, the black and red hair. I dyed it that way for a small taste of rebellion, for modest exploration, and to see if I could escape my own innocence and take on a new identity.

Well, I've found that identity I wasn't even aware I was searching for, and I surely didn't need this hair to be part of my mask anymore.

"Done," Jasmine announced in a business-like peep. The bun she had my hair in felt odd and uncomfortable against my scalp, but she kept a few tresses, including my parted bangs, untouched to give a messy flair to my completed outfit. I supposed it looked okay, but eh, I could do without the bun.

"Here." Jade was now in my face, with something in her hand as she raised it to my eye. "A little bit of eyeliner will add a lot." Since it was only eyeliner, I didn't object.

"Ooh, Renea's got this killer eye-shadow—"

"Anyone touches me with another stick, tube, or ounce of makeup will get my hard-toed shoe up their ass," I warned them, Jasmine in particular. The faint trace of playfulness in my voice was apparent enough to let them know I wasn't being too severe, but she was still disappointed.

"Oh, fine."

Finally done being their life-sized Barbie doll, I lingered behind them as we cantered back downstairs to meet up with the boys, and partially hid behind Renea, who was just an inch taller than me now due to her heels.

"All right, what did you do to her?" Gohan asked. Renea stepped away from me, and I didn't know what else to do with myself other than cross my arms and stand there awkwardly. Elliot gave a light-hearted catcall.

"Extreme Makeover: Jasmine Terner Edition!" he snickered.

"It isn't as much as I would have liked to do," Jasmine amended, looking at me with a childishly pouty face.

"Hey, be grateful I let you get this far," I told her, throwing her a witty glance. Everyone else only laughed.

"You look beautifully edgy, Jordane," Vicki Rose said, humor bouncing in her voice. Don merely shook his head with a smile, as if the whims of teenage girls still baffled him in his wise age. I didn't blame him.

When the others had left the foyer, Gohan lingered back with me. He blinked and shifted his eyes almost spastically, as if he couldn't decide to look me over or find something else to focus on.

"Is it too much?" I asked with a groan.

"No, no," he assured me, the answer coming quickly out of his mouth. Chuckling breathily, his arm came up and he scratched behind his ear. "Um, no, it's not too much. You look great." He composed himself in that quick, efficient way before I could call him out on his nervousness. Well, if he liked it…

"Wait a sec." Before I could take one step, he held me back with a gentle grasp to my arm, and I stood there curiously as his eyes focused to my head, of all things. "May I…?"

Although not entirely sure what he intended to do, I shrugged to give him the go-ahead. His hand went for my hair, and I felt the bobbing pins be pulled from my scalp, releasing my messy locks back to the natural lay against my shoulders. Then his eyes gave a sweeping glance from the top of my head to the toes of my boots. There was a soft twinkle in his eyes.

I constrained my mouth to keep the grin that wanted to burst across my cheeks a marginal smirk. "Better?" I asked.

Gohan smiled at me, infectious warmth beaming from his face. "Better."

"Jasmine's not going to be happy you messed up my hair. She worked all of thirty seconds on it," I kidded as we walked for the door, stride for stride. All he did was grin in utter amusement, as if he looked forward to his drama queen of a pack sister reacting to his undoing of her fashion imprint on me.

We all climbed up into Vince's white full-sized pickup; Gohan sat shotgun with Vince, the girls and I all managed to fit in the backseat, while Ian and Elliot chilled in the truck bed. Before we drove off, I saw Jasmine had caught on to my hair, and I smirked. Shrugging, I pointed to Gohan. And since she hadn't secured her seatbelt yet, Jasmine lunged forward and smacked the side of Gohan's head.

"Hey!" he hollered, coiling away from her.

"Why'd you mess her hair up?"

"Her hair looks better down and not up in a ridiculous bun she obviously didn't want in the first place."

I barely managed to subtly let my hair curtain the side of my face to hide the frivolous smile that stretched my cheeks to the point they felt sore. It was a silly thing, how tickled I was at Gohan's blatant compliment of my hair, of all things. I bit my lip in an effort to stop myself from smiling, because I knew it was only a matter of time before someone saw, and the muscles in my jaw were aching to the point I could barely stand it.

Star-Kissed Spirits Night Club was crowded even in the private parking lot just down a hill; I could only imagine how congested it was inside. The nerves I had earlier that night had set back in; I didn't look forward to drowning in a crowd of juvenile adults. The ever-swelling restlessness and anticipation for the Turning later that night didn't help matters, either.

I was an open book these days, especially to Gohan; he caught on to my anxiety as we exited the truck, and was sure to keep close to me as we walked across the lot, giving me a gentle nudge of reassurance with his arm to mine.

Inside, the club was actually spacious; there were certain spots that were crowded—the dance floor, the pool tables, random lounging areas—the walkways were quite breathable. Music blasted from the ginormous subwoofer speakers lined up all along the ceiling, I felt as if my gut was going to burst from my body from all the shaking.

My pack—I don't think I could ever get used to that word—and I found a lounging nook in the back of the room, a carpeted little square with bean-bags, two-seater sofas, and comfy chairs. Gohan and Vince went up to the bar to get drinks.

"So what do you think?" Renea asked me, having to only raise her voice a little in order for me to hear.

Indecisive, I shrugged. "We just got here," I reminded her. When the boys returned, they were each holding various drinks. I watched warily as each of them drank away, but noticed something; each drink was carbonated, like soda. Gohan handed me one, and it was a clear carbonated liquid with dark red coloring settling at the bottom.

"It's club soda with black cherry flavoring. I figured you'd like that," he said, sitting down beside me. Taking a tiny sip, the very apparent taste of black cherry burst on my tongue. It was just the right amount of sweet balanced with the airy tastelessness of the club soda.

I smiled at Gohan to let him know his assumptions were correct, and in doing so, I saw him holding a dark glass bottle. "What's that?" I asked him, unable to help the surprise of my tone.

"It's a hyper-carbonized club soda mix, blended with real fruit juice."

"Yeah, and only his Saiyan ass can drink it," Elliot bantered. "That stuff, you have to drink in tiny sips, at least, if you're a borderline normal person. Drink too much, feels like the carbonation sets your esophagus on fire. Not many people have it as a typical drink; the club pretty much has them for chugging competitions. But this guy," he pointed to Gohan, "Drinks it like it's water."

Shrugging, Gohan smiled into the lip of the bottle.

"Mind if I try?"

With raised brows, he handed his drink to me. "Tiny sips," he reminded me. "It's got four times the carbonation as regular soda."

I wanted to see if Elliot was exaggerating, and if, because I wasn't exactly "normal", I could hack this drink as well as Gohan. I sniffed the lip of the bottle, and caught the sweet tang of pineapple. Tilting the drink back 'til I felt the liquid touch my lips, I let it trickle into my mouth. It wasn't exactly a sip; a little more generous than that.

Sure enough, no longer than a second after the liquid gathered in my mouth, my tongue, cheeks, and roof of my mouth were attacked by the strangest sensation of ice coldness and burning heat. When I swallowed, the feeling followed all down my throat. Gohan was right; it was four times the carbonation, and I could definitely feel it. Take the feeling you get when you chug a soda to the point it burns, and multiply it by at least three.

"Gah!" I quacked, swallowing my own saliva in an attempt to relieve the residual tight throbbing the drink had left.

"See?" Elliot chuckled. I happily handed Gohan's drink back to him.

When a song of their liking blared on the speakers, the girls took their guys onto the dance floor, leaving Gohan and I to find something else to do.

"You know how to play pool?" he asked, and I followed his gaze to the raised platform in the opposite side of the club where multiple billiards were set up.

"Yes, as a matter off act, I do." That was all I needed to say, and we were both up and walking for the billiards. I picked the sturdiest, heaviest cue stick and chalked the tip while Gohan set up the balls.

"Who taught you how to play pool, just out of curiosity?" I asked, hanging around the pool table.

"Who do you think taught me?" he countered, smirking. I only had to think for a minute.

"Vince?"

"Yep. And let me guess, one of your uncles taught you to play pool."

I laughed softly. "Actually, my mom taught me. Then again, my uncles taught her, so I suppose it's just one big cycle."

"Ladies first," Gohan gestured, grinning in that goofy, playful way.

"I'm not a lady," I reminded him, being sure to poke his abs with the bumper of my stick as I went around him to make the first shot.

No one bothered us during our two-player game; in fact, the billiards emptied the longer our game went on. Gohan was doing well for the first half, and we ran at a tie, but the less balls there were, the more trouble he had getting a shot. I, on the other hand, found solutions easily, and wound up victorious for the first game.

"I've got to take a bathroom break; you can set up for the next game, and make the first shot if you want," Gohan said, setting his cue against the table. I assured him I'd get everything set while he was absent.

It took me a mere half minute to get the next set ready, and at first I contemplated waiting for him to return to make the first move, but followed through with it anyways. I took my stance, letting the tapered end of the shaft rest above my thumb and against the side of my index finger, the same technique my mother used.

I had the shot lined up—

"Impressive form."

The voice was so close and so abrupt even amongst the booming music that I jumped, breaking my intent stance. I swerved around to see just who had snuck up on me, and wound up dumbfounded. A tall guy with olive skin stood too close for comfort, his face smug and ugly with arrogance. It was his spiked black hair and black eyes that rendered me wordless.

I attempted to ignore him by moving to the other side of the table, but unfortunately, he didn't take the hint. He lingered, eyeing me with very sharp glances.

"You know, when most females are complimented in any way regarding their body, they're typically flattered," he said, his voice rough and lazy.

"Screw off," I muttered, trying to preoccupy myself by finding a new shot. The man chuckled, the sound itself was very unkind and almost dirty.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Saiyan women, I was once told, aren't easy like human females." As it did when Gohan first uttered it, that particular word struck a chord in me, and I glared at the stranger warily. "That's right. I know you're a Saiyan. Your life force is too high to belong to an earthling vessel."

He had to be another Saiyan, then… But that's impossible, even for him to be only partial. The only other Saiyans on Earth were myself, that "prince" Vegeta, his son, Goku, Goten, and Gohan—

…And his cousin.

"If you're a Saiyan…where's your tail?" I asked.

He glanced down at his waist, where I'm sure his tail would have been wrapped if it was present. "That…is a long story. I suppose you can say my estranged kin and I don't exactly get along."

"Looking at you, I'd say there's a good reason for it," I grunted. I hated the aura this guy had about him; it was just unsettling, and my skin was crawling with disgust, all because of his attitude. I suppose he could have been a good-looking guy, if the look in his eyes wasn't so twisted.

He grinned, his pointed teeth adding a menacing touch. "And how would you know what I am like? For all you know, I could be the deciding factor as to whether you walk out of this club, or are carried out."

I scoffed, just barely resisting the urge to laugh. "I don't think so. You don't look like you could hit the broad side of the tallest building in all of Tokyo."

"We're getting off on the wrong foot here," he said, closing the gap between us with each little step. "We should band together, work something out. We are just a few of the only Saiyans left in this universe, after all."

"No thanks. I don't mix with sleazebags." To emphasize this, I wore my sharpest glare, letting my pointed incisor tooth peek out from under my lip.

His face was losing its humor now. "Not a very good answer."

I was seconds away from retorting with another snarky comment when Gohan came up from behind the guy. Judging by the look in his eyes, discernible even in the dimness and probing lights, he was plainly vehement.

"Can't I go anywhere without you crawling out from under a rock?" he growled in vexation.

The other Saiyan's demeanor shifted violently, the playful mischief in his face was gone, and hostility took its place. "I could say the same for you, coz."

_Well, that confirms it._ So this really was Sid.

Gohan was by my side, and I took notice to how he blatantly put himself between me and his cousin. With the angle, however, his face was still in my view, and he did not break the scornful glaring match they were in. The first to break it was Sid, who glanced over at me in an almost investigative way; the random look quickly hardened to a sour, almost disgusted grimace. Traces of it remained even once he smiled, a cynically amused likeness manifesting his harsh face.

"I should have been able to smell you on her; if not your scent, then your influence. She's just as cheekily virtuous and righteous as you…," he mused, crossing his arms across his chest. "Leave it to you to ruin the only female Saiyan in existence with your petty, morality crap."

"Don't give him all the credit," I interrupted. "I came pre-packaged with all that 'crap'."

Sid grinned again. His eyes then took a prolonged, leisurely sweep down the whole length of my body. A new mixture occupied the simple muscles in his callous face; a look that dispersed the heavy aura of envy.

"I've got to hand it you, though, coz…you've got good taste…at least, as far as the outward packaging is concerned."

I didn't bother restraining myself; I let my hand whip up so I could deliver him a wordless, middle-fingered insult. That only seemed to entertain him more. Gohan inched closer to me, ready to stop me should I even think about attacking. I would have assured him I already made the decision he wasn't worth wasting my time and energy, just to rub it in Sid's face, but the words never came.

"Just get out of here. Don't bug us again."

"Absolutely, coz. I'd hate to keep you and your little girlfriend from your date. Though, for what it's worth, girl, you're missing out; if wanted a real Saiyan, you shouldn't have settled with this impure, half-breed puke."

"Don't think that being full-blooded Saiyan makes you better than him," I snarled, pressing my way past Gohan's barrier so he was no longer shielding me. I wanted Sid to feel the weight of my glare up close. "He's ten times the man you are. And for your information, I'm a half-breed, too, so you would be tarnishing your 'pure' record, you hypocritical prick. Now piss off."

Sid's dark eyes iced over, his black brows setting together above his narrowed eyes. He wasn't smiling, yet I could still see the ghostly trace of it somehow. "You better watch your tongue when you're around me, girl. One of these times, you aren't going to have Gohan around to protect you and when that time comes, I just might have to give you a hard lesson the next time you want to talk big."

I found myself behind the barrier of Gohan's back once again when he took an aggressive step forward. "Don't you dare threaten her," he warned with an animalistic growl building in his throat. When a smirk returned to Sid's face, I intervened.

"I don't need him for protection," I declared proudly.

"Oh, really?" he snorted, grinning. "Doesn't look like it to me, the way he's so quick to jump in front of you at the slightest implication of conflict."

"He isn't doing that to protect me," I said. "It's for _your_ protection."

"Mine?" he guffawed, bemused.

I smirked. "Yeah. Because he knows I can beat your ass into nothing if he lets me." I was selling the confidence, although I wasn't too sure it was an honest declaration. Truth be told, I didn't know if I could take Sid on, and knowing Gohan, he _was_ protecting me and he probably wouldn't let me have at Sid even if he knew I could do damage.

"Leave," Gohan demanded one last time. Still wearing a smirk, Sid glowered at the both of us as he sauntered away into the crowd. When we were certain he was gone, the air lost its heaviness.

"Well…your cousin is quite the pleasant fellow." My heavily sarcastic remark caused us both to chuckle, releasing the tension and allowing us to return to our game. My shoulders felt like with victory, and I hadn't even made the first shot yet.

It wasn't long until the others popped by to see what we were up to. I should have known the girls, especially, weren't going to let us be for too long. "You guys can't just stay here in your quiet little corner all night!" Jasmine persisted, looking at me in particular.

"Gohan, come dance with me!" Jade beamed, taking Gohan by the hand and heading over to the dance floor. Obviously, our game of pool was over, so I hung the cue up and followed the girls back toward our lounging area, where the boys were taking a break. I watched as Gohan and Jade danced to a pop-driven song; judging by his loose movements and smile, he was having fun.

"I never would have pegged Gohan for the dancing type," I randomly said, more to myself than to anyone else.

"Did you really expect Jasmine or Renea to have let him come this far without teaching him how to do dance?" Vince asked, leaning over to bump me with his arm. I snickered.

"I suppose not."

"Hey! Come on." Renea came bouncing over beside me, took my hand and hauled me to me feet over to the dance floor.

"Nah-ah, no—"

"Ain't nothing you can do about it!" she retorted to my objections, steering me into the crowded madness of the dance floor. "Come on, Jordane! You love music, you should know how to let music take over your body and move it for you!"

"I do, but not in a public place where I'm bumping into people in every inch and direction!" I just stood there, dumbfounded as to what I should do while figures of various shapes and sizes bounced and swayed around me in a disorienting haze of light and sound.

"Let the music get you in touch with your sexy side!" Jasmine popped up from behind me, nearly causing me to raise an elbow to her face out of startled reflex.

"I don't have a 'sexy side'," I grunted in stiff distaste.

"Oh yes, you do," Renea encouraged, her green eyes glittering with hues of gold, wide and alive. Still holding my hands, she began to move, swaying her head, gyrating her hips, and arching her back; Jasmine followed suit, only her movements were far more sensual and bold. It didn't take long at all for Elliot to haul ass to the dance floor and accompany her.

I wanted to look away, almost embarrassed to be watching them and the way their hips grinded against the other, how Jasmine arched her body against his, and Elliot buried his face in the crook of her neck, biting her. I felt rude just gawking at them, but at the same time I couldn't help but observe, and in some distant corner of my weird mind, wonder what it would be like to dance with someone like that, to feel their hands and arms trapping my body in an invisible hold, to have fangs prick and scrape at my skin, and to experience the lively rush of another's body against mine.

_Stop it, _I snapped, finally attempting to at least move with Renea rather than stand there like an idiot. Thanks to the DJ, the songs changed without any interruption, and this new song was easier for me to pick the beat. I began rocking and swaying my body, keeping my movements subtle, but I'm sure I looked like a moron, either way.

Whenever Renea would look at me, she'd smile in encouragement, dancing near me to help me get the "groove" on. Of course, Jasmine couldn't stay away without sticking her nose back into the situation, popping up beside me from out of nowhere.

"You know what will make it easier for you," she said, an unsettlingly puckish grin on her face, "go dance with Gohan."

"No," I snapped without thought or hesitation, flashing my eyes over to Gohan, who still danced with Jade like a couple of goofballs.

"I'm serious!" Jazz pestered. "It's a whole lot easier to get lost in your feminine ferocity when you have a male body to dance up against."

The image of her and Elliot dancing provocatively popped back into my head, and I replaced their faces with mine and Gohan's. The skin of my cheeks suddenly felt blistering hot. "No. No, no, no, no—"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"He's my best friend, Jazz! I'm not going to dance with him like _that_!"

"If he's your best friend, then you should be comfortable doing it."

I scoffed. "Not!"

"'Not' what?" Jade peeped, and she was beside us, her eyes grazing all our faces.

"Jordane's _not_ going to keep being so damn coy and tame, is what." Before I could register what Jasmine said, she shoved me further into the dance floor, to the point I was shuffling and tripping over myself; I was afraid of bumping into a mob of crazy dancers, but instead I collided with the yielding softness of Gohan's chest. He looked just as flustered as I was, but his hands still held my arms. Briefly, he glared in the direction I came—probably to Jazz, no doubt—but looking back at me, he smiled.

"Sorry. I should have known this whole scene would have been a little out of your comfort zone," he apologized, the melting honey of his voice and gentle furrow of his brows caused a hot coil to knot up in my chest.

"It's just different," I said feebly, trying to recover myself. A three-beat, milder dance song came on, and the heat of Gohan's palms slid down my arm and encompassed around my hands. I never realized just how small my hands were until I saw them cradled in his. Pale skin with pale skin, soft and untouched knuckles contrasted with defined, scarred ones.

I felt hot once again, from my cheeks to the tips of my nose and ears, and I dared to glance up into his eyes, which, like Renea's, had faint hues of gold dust sparkling in the rims. His smile was delicate, but bold in nature. Still holding my hands, he began to move and twist his shoulders, the movement coursing down his arms like a current, and mobilizing my arms, like a puppeteer manipulating the strings of his puppet. That concept alone should have jolted me, made me feel like I was in the wrong place, but an overwhelming rush chased off those proud self-defenses.

Eyes locked together, I allowed all intent and modesty to leave my consciousness and my body began to move with Gohan. He gave me a twirl, and when he brought me back, I let my head move with the energized chorus of the song. Somehow, the lyrics were clear and strong in my ear, absorbing into my focused conscience.

"_Oh! _

_Do you know what you got into?_

_Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do? _

_'Cuz it's about to get rough for you._

_I'm here for your entertainment. _

_Oh!_

_Bet you thought I was soft and sweet._

_You thought an angel swept you off your feet._

_But I'm about to turn up the heat._

_I'm here for your entertainment_."

From my neck, the joyous litheness flowed down my spine; I moved with a sense of blasé freedom, always keeping some form of contact between Gohan and me through our hands, from a full embrace of palms to soft grazing of fingers.

"_S'all right, you'll be fine._

_Baby, I'm in control. _

_Take the pain, take the pleasure,_

_I'm the master of both. _

_Close your eyes, not your mind._

_Let me into your soul. _

_I'm gonna work it 'til you're totally blown_."

The asinine clumsiness that would normally come in acting such a way was completely gone, any comfort zone I had kept wrapped around me was slashed to ribbons. Just as I kept my fingers touching his, I made sure eye contact between us wasn't broken for more than a second.

The next time he spun me, it was exhilaratingly fast, and instead of being released at a benign distance, I was brought in—either by my own leverage or Gohan's—and my shoulders meshed perfectly together with the shape of his chest, heat exploding across my back.

Rhyme or sense weren't a company of my mind at this point. Somewhere between that spin and meeting the firm, feverish warmth of his flesh, primal impulses I never knew I had sent a blaring signal to my body; this instinct screamed to respond, to get closer, to fit to his shape. I was in a blissful haze of no control—or carelessness, or both—and I puffed out my chest, arching my shoulders and the rest of my spine followed suit, fitting with the contour of Gohan's chest and stomach.

"_Oh! _

_I bet you thought I was soft and sweet._

_You thought an angel swept you off your feet._

_But I'm about to turn up the heat._

_I'm here for your entertainment_."

His arm that had extended me out for the spin kept itself locked around my waist, our hands entwined; either he refused to let go or I did, I couldn't tell. The barrier of his arm was constricting, and never before in my life had it felt so good to be trapped, confined, and in an unbreakable clutch.

I felt the side of his face press into my temple, his breaths short and rushed. Either I was hallucinating on this high, or he really gasped my name in my ear; either way, hearing my name had never sounded so good.

With a force I wasn't expecting, he drew me out for another twirl, but this time, the mere purpose of it was to turn me around so he could finally look into my eyes.

"_Oh!_

_Do you like what you see_?"

I did like what I saw.

Shimmering dark eyes wide and alive with a primitive aspiration, belonging to a young face that was beautiful and striking in fluttering shadows and colorful light, lips parted in a small gape of awe and bewilderment.

"_Oh!_

_Let me entertain ya 'til you scream!_"

I suddenly regretted not taking advantage of that stormy night when his parents left us home alone; missed opportunities to exchange words the both of us knew were better left unsaid, explore new sensations, take up a risk…

The hypnotizing beat was gone. The music ceased, and the satisfied hollers and applause of those around us made the addictive trance shatter, and the taboo reality came back to smack me in the face.

Gohan and I gawked at one another, faint traces of the sensual stupor still apparent in his face, and I'm sure still in mine. I half-yanked my hands away, which had been locked around his taut arms that circled me. Not for long; they also fell away at an awkward motion.

I couldn't tell what he was about to do or say. He looked like he wanted to either chastise me for way overstepping our boundaries, or he simply wanted to ask me what the hell had gotten into me just for the sake of his own curiosity. Instead, all he said was my name.

"Jordane…"

"I'll be right back." I pushed my way through the crowd, leaving him standing there on the dance floor, probably just as maddeningly baffled out of his mind as I was.

Thankfully, signs in the hallways pointed me in the direction I wanted to go, and I emerged from a heavy-bound door to an outdoor lounging area. It was empty, thank the Moon.

Speaking of the moon…

I looked up, and sure enough, Lady Luna was full and bright and showing herself off, with not a cloud in sight.

_It was just the influence of the full moon, _I assured myself in an attempt to calm down and find reason as to what just happened—any reason besides that I liked it.

I couldn't blame it all on the sway of the full moon. We were still hours away from midnight—the highpoint for the Turning—and I'd never been driven to do something so extreme barely a quarter of the way into the night.

No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't ward off the lingering, almost dizzying effects of what happened on the dance floor with Gohan. I couldn't believe the thoughts that circulated through my head… The urge to reach out and touch every inch of him, to feel the pulse of his heart thrumming through each vein under my fingers, to press every inch of him against me so the heat of him seared my skin through our clothes, was overwhelming. The most shocking part of it all was how I yearned to make him feel the simple but sublime pleasure I was feeling; I wanted to arch my back deeper against him, I wanted to grind my hips into his, I wanted to make our bodies fit together like two broken shards mending back together.

_Where the hell did all this come from?! _

It's been all too easy getting emotionally close to him, and even harder to keep up my objective mindset whenever I was around him—to see him as just a mentor and not the greatest friend in the world who I enjoyed being in the presence of just about each waking minute of every day; even more impossible as of late was to keep from admiring him in particular ways.

_Damn you, Jordane. You stupid, stupid idiot. Of all the times you decide to be a girl and complicate things, you choose now?! _

The whole indiscretion just left my mind in a mad spiral. I've never felt like this toward anyone before, and I knew I shouldn't start by fantasizing such thoughts of my best friend. Yet, a small voice in the back of my head kept encouraging me it was okay to yearn and want him this way, reminding me yet again of his beauty and how his personality made the draw all the more powerful.

"Jordane?"

I didn't need to look to see who it was; instead, I straightened myself up, clearing my throat. "Yeah?"

"Are you all right? Gohan said you kind of took off like a bat out of hell…"

At the moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to share with her all that happened. It was blatantly obvious she, along with the entire pack, saw Gohan and I together in a particular light; I'd almost go as far as to say they're all playing matchmaker and trying to get us together, so sharing with her that their suspicions and hopes may even have an inkling of falling through was a little awkward.

Screw it. I needed to get this off my chest, somehow. "It's just…Jazz pushed me into Gohan, and we started dancing, and next thing I know, I'm enjoying myself way too much. It's like my logic and common sense shut off and I only went with impulse—impulses that were out of whack, even for me. He and I just got…close. Like, physically close…and it felt good."

I didn't bother looking at her; I just sighed, rubbing my face with my hands and sitting down on the bench beside the door.

"You know, I can get Gohan being all anal about making sure nothing beyond friendship happens between you two, but I'm having greater trouble figuring out why you're just as against it as he is." The wooden beams of the bench creaked faintly as she sat beside me. "I mean, if you're starting to feel for him as more than a friend, then why not try and make a move, try to make things progress and help him see what you guys could share?"

_Too much, _I groaned, rubbing my temples. "It isn't like that."

"Oh? The way you look at him says different, and it's the same with how he looks at you. I know what's kept Gohan from being in a relationship, but I don't get what reasons you have for pushing it away."

_You might as well just tell her. _At least, I could tell her one reason. The main issues were too damn complicated. "Gohan and I made a deal with each other when he took me in that our relationship was going to be strictly mentor-and-student; we promised each other we wouldn't complicate things. I want to honor my part of the deal. That's one reason, anyways." All right, maybe two. "The other reason I'm not getting comfortable with the idea of starting something else with Gohan—or anybody—is because I may not even be here long enough to maintain anything, even if I started it."

A pause. "What do you mean?"

I looked at her. I could feel the melancholy somberness in my face as easily as I could see it in the reflection of her eyes. "There's a strong possibility I could be moving back to Washington at the end of the year. My mom's job is going well, and she's been saving up money; since the job is the only reason we ended up moving here in the first place, there isn't much to keep us here for longer than necessary if we no longer need to be tied here."

Renea's green eyes searched mine, as if she would find the words she was looking to say hidden in my face. Her shoulders slouched and her brows finally furrowed. "That's… Well, why don't you get emancipated? I'm sure Gohan and his family would love for you to live with them. Or heck, you could even live with me."

The idea was so unbearably tempting and wonderful, I could feel my heart beginning to tear at the seams. "It's not that simple, Renea," I moaned tiredly. "I can't just leave my mother like that. I'm all she has, it's been that way ever since I was born. Even if she's back at home, I just don't know if I could live across the globe from her, at least not yet."

"As sweet as your loyalty to your mom is…are you sure you're not just using that as an excuse to hide behind so you won't take a risk?" My head snapped back in her direction, but she didn't appear the least bit alarmed. She smiled, bittersweet. "You can't do that to yourself, Jordane. You can't keep holding yourself back with these anchors and submitting to their weight just because it's easier to stay in your comfort zone and ignore the possibility of something new." Tilting her head, she studied my face, egging me on.

"I don't know," I mumbled, lost. "I don't know what I want; all I know is being here, meeting you guys, it's given me something I never realized I needed. When I first moved here, I hated it so damn much, but now that I'm beginning to finally accept being here, my days are numbered… It's going to be hard enough saying goodbye to you guys, because I don't know if it'll be temporary or not. I may get comfortable back in Washington and just do as I've always done—settle. I don't want to get any closer to Gohan than I already am, maybe because I am scared of what'll happen if I might, but also because I just don't want to make it any harder on myself—or him—when I leave.

"He's helped me so much, not just with my powers, but in dealing with other personal stuff. It's nice to find someone new who can be a shoulder to lean on, especially since I'm not going to be able to do turn to my cousin Paul for my every whim forever. Sometime soon, he's going to find a nice woman, get married and start his own life. But with Gohan, he's at my same pace, as far as age goes. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Renea clarified with an empathetic smile. "But you know, that's going to be Gohan, eventually, too—the marriage and settling down stuff, I mean. It'll happen to all of us. Sure, we'll be there for each other but life goes on, as sad as it is."

At the mention of Gohan and marriage, my heart sputtered and skipped a beat. Not in joy or exhilaration, but in dread. I could just see it; I would leave, and he would move on, eventually find a nice wolf-girl, marry her, and start a family, while I sat and wallowed in my irresolute self-misery, alone, and far away from him.

"Yeah," I acknowledged, my mind far away from our conversation.

"You okay?"

I grew my claw on an index finger and intentionally pricked myself in the leg with it, to snap myself out of that dejected apathy. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said, my voice clearer. To further assure her, I smiled. As to how convincing it was, I couldn't be certain. "You go ahead and get back to the others. I'll be in soon."

Not saying a word, she nodded, standing up and walking for the heavy door. Before she pulled on the handle, she lingered. "Jordane? What was that look about?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When I mentioned Gohan moving on and getting married down the road, you got this look on your face."

"I didn't have a look."

Obstinacy and pity—a strange combination—coated Renea's face as she looked at me, the smile gone now. "Yes, you did. You looked like a girl who just experienced a new fear and jealousy, upon the thought that the guy she loves could end up with someone else, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it." She said nothing else and went back inside, leaving me to ponder and fester over our conversation, particularly that last remark.

I didn't know if I could go back and rejoin the others; I didn't know if I could face Gohan after that, not without getting a grip on myself. I could play it off that it meant nothing, but both of us knew that wasn't the case. If it was "nothing", I wouldn't have walked out.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself to my feet and went for the door, my heart thudding against my ribs with each step I took back into the heart of the club, anticipating Gohan's face. As it would turn out, I wouldn't need to meet up with him on the dance floor; turning a corner, out of the hallway, I nearly collided with him.

"There you are," he said with relief. His smile had a concerned, careful tone to it.

"Hey," I said feebly. "Sorry I took off like that, I just…had to, um, step out for some fresh air. It was getting pretty crammed and hot on that dance floor." I had meant for that to refer to the crowds on the dance floor, not the sole dance with him, but of course the way I worded it favored toward the more awkward inclination.

Gohan would be the braver one of the both us. "Listen, uh, about what happened back there… I don't really know how we let ourselves get so carried away, but I just want you to know that it wasn't my intention whatsoever for it to lead to that—"

"You don't have to apologize," I insisted. "I really don't know what came over me. I can understand if you're upset, for crossing that boundary we set—"

"I'm not upset," he eased, his face still soft and genuine. "I think we both just lost ourselves in the whole hype and vibe without even thinking where it could lead… But no harm done." He smiled to finish the gesture of forgiveness, and a weight lifted off my shoulders. There was still no way in hell I would be forgetting about this anytime soon, though.

"Now let's get out of here and go bowling."

* * *

><p>I hadn't been bowling since eighth grade. It took me a few tries to get back in the proper swing of posture, speed, and angle to knock down a fair number of pins. Thankfully, the alley wasn't too crowded at this time of night.<p>

The best of the entire group, hands down, was Elliot. Perhaps one in every five tries he missed getting a perfect strike. Only Jade was able touch his record, though it was still drastically less than his, who apparently was the undefeated champion. And boy, did he like to show it off, strutting and hollering victoriously every time he made a strike.

"Why aren't you playing?" I asked when I took a seat next to Gohan after my turn. He hadn't come up to play even once.

"I, uh, try to refrain from playing sports that involve heavy objects capable of crushing anyone's skull," he admitted sheepishly. "The first time I went bowling, I, uh, sort of sent a ball through the back wall of the pin rack; even a few years after, I got a little too excited, launched the ball with too much momentum and it cracked the floor of the run."

Snickering, I pictured the scenario in my head; knowing him, I could see it happening in front of me now. It was an improvement from the awkward, tight air that surrounded us since we left the club. Each time it was my turn to bowl, it was actually a relief to get up and be out of Gohan's space, as much as I hated to admit it.

"Oh, Great Moon, Ell, you can give it a rest, now!" Vince growled as Elliot once again did his victory dance, which consisted of a few slick foot movements, including the moon-walk. I found it rather funny at first, but it indeed was quickly wearing on my nerves by the dozenth time he did it; I could only imagine how many times my peers have had to put up with it over the years. Even Gohan was groaning in complaint, rolling his eyes at his pack brother's excessive, egotistical display.

"Jordane, you need to do something," Renea begged me. "You're the only one who has a chance of beating Elliot's record."

"No, she doesn't," he snorted playfully, grinning my way.

"Yeah, he has years of games—"

"I'm not talking about all the games he's ever played; I'm talking about beating his record of most strikes in one game tonight. You should be able to do that."

I shrugged. "I don't really play bowling competitively… Kinda takes the fun out of it."

"Wake up, sister!" Ian yelled, leaping over his row of seats to take me by the shoulders and shake me. "Everything—especially bowling—is even more fun when you can kick someone's ass!"

"Yeah, go ahead, Jordane," Elliot encouraged gloatingly, gesturing toward the bowling lane.

"I'll bet you fifty bucks she'll whoop your ass—and your record," Gohan declared, boldly, catching all of us by surprise. "If she fails to break your record in this next game, I owe you fifty bucks. Is she beats you, you owe me the fifty."

"By all means, make me fifty bucks richer," Elliot laughed. "You're on."

I looked at Gohan with a questioning arch of my brow. All he did was wink at me, and I cursed myself for blushing.

As expected, Elliot won one strike and spare for his first frame with ease. I managed to swipe a spare. Not off to a promising start.

When he then started making more spares than he did strikes, it presented an open door for me to earn a couple strikes, bumping my lead five-to-three strikes. It didn't seem to bother him at all, especially since luck budged over in his favor again and by the time he finished his last frame, he'd accomplished his eighth strike, which left us tied.

Glancing his way as he took his seat beside Jazz, he watched me intently; he hardly looked worried—either that, or he was hiding his anxiety, having me so close to snatching his precious title. Turning away to focus on the lane ahead of me, I was surprised to be as nervous as I was. Though it was just a friendly game of bowling, I wanted to win, to make my mark in my new wolfen family, so to speak, though I hardly would have imagined winning a game of bowling would have been the manner in which I did so.

The weight of the large ball in my hand was comforting, something I could squeeze and hold to exert my pent-up, anxious energy in a small form. In the midst of my concentrating, someone had snuck up behind me in a hurry.

"Please tell me you've got this in the bag," Gohan murmured, standing just behind my shoulder. Too close. I shrugged it off.

"Getting nervous, are you?" I said, not quite achieving the light, bantering tone I'd intended to flaunt.

He made a strange noise, one that I couldn't quite discern to be a confirmation or an objection. "To be perfectly honest, I just want to see Elliot get knocked off his mountain of a pedestal in the bowling alley," he snickered. I followed suit, though I was quiet. "Also," he began after a moment's speechlessness, "if it gives you a little extra motivation, you can think of this as a sort of initiation into the pack."

I grinned. "Beat Ell's ass in a game of bowling, and I'm in, huh? If I'd known that sooner…" Bumping me in the shoulder as his way of acknowledging my humor, Gohan seemed to lean in closer, setting my nerves on alarm.

"Well, by bruising his ego, think of it as putting him in his place in the hierarchy; that can be your first display of power in ascendance to a high position."

"But Elliot's a Beta; the only way I'd be higher than him is if I became an Alpha." I meant to only sort this through in my mind, but accidentally said it aloud. The tense, apprehensive air around us gradually seemed to shift over to a frivolous tone when Gohan hummed in feigned thoughtfulness.

"That's right," he confirmed after his supposed assessment. "Well, all's fair in the pack pecking order. It would work out anyways, I mean…you do like to be your own boss and all."

I scoffed. "I think even if I were to become an alpha, you'd still boss me around." He let out a breathy laugh, and energy continued to build up and off of him; he felt so wound, I thought he would leap out of his own skin.

"I can't make any promises."

With each word, it sounded more and more as if this conversation was becoming less of a bantering session and more a serious contemplation. Just for the sake of the hypothetical situation, I continued, "So…you wouldn't mind? Me being an Alpha, I mean?"

There was a very brief pause on his part. "No. A pack can have two alphas, I'm not power-hungry. If anything, it'd be enjoyable and somewhat of an honor to have a partner whose bark is just as severe as her bite."

Any other time, I would have taken that compliment with pride. "Well, there'd obviously be a certain perception about us, in being equals—in being alphas of the same pack… You're fine with being seen in that…context?" I hoped my vague, careful inclination was still clear enough to get my point through.

Gohan's breath was in my ear, as he leaned in even closer. He whispered in my ear, very distinctly and boldly, "I'm okay with it if you are." The soft trail of his breath lingered even after he'd left me to join the others back on the sidelines.

I stood there, absorbing what he said and the way he said it, and it's a good thing the alley was empty, because it would have been utterly embarrassing for people to see me grinning pertly like a silly moron at empty space.

Somehow, I regained my grasp on the present, focusing on the defiant set of pins that stood at the end of the lane, almost taunting me. With the goofy high Gohan's remark had put me on, I could almost see each pin turn into little mini-Elliots, each one in his shameless, victory-dancing glory.

Having my path locked on, I released the ball with a confident swing, glaring intensely at it as it rolled, like I could steer it with my eyes to victory. I didn't register how many pins I had hit until I saw the final one slowly fall over in defeat.

I didn't just beat Elliot's record of most strikes in one game, but I also beat his score, by eighty points. With relish, I turned around to see him gawking at the screens above, his mouth closed in a taut line, blue eyes wide with astonishment. The others applauded and laughed.

Grinning, Gohan leaned forward, hand extended toward Elliot. "I believe that's fifty dollars," he reminded him when I had sat back down. With a defeated grunt, Elliot dug into his jeans pocket and slapped a fifty dollar bill in Gohan's hand.

"No hard feelings, huh, Elliot?" I asked, smirking in good spirits. A grin broke out on his face within a few moments, but the competitive spark in his eyes was still there.

"Nah. You may have beaten my bowling streak, but let's see how you hold up under the full moon, sister."

"Yeah, we'll see."

* * *

><p>On our final drive out of town, I joined the girls out in the bed of Vince's truck, leaning against the cab roof as we stood and howled into the night with abandon. It didn't take much for me to join in, holding my head high to let the wind course through my face, neck, and hair. Gazing up at the skyscrapers with bright, neon colors surrounding me on either side, I locked away each detailed perspective in my head so that I could revisit it later.<p>

The Full Moon hovered above us beyond the tree canopies as we trekked from the winding highways of the hillside roads and into the uncharted mountain trails in the forest. Before we embarked on our run, we changed into something more appropriate for the Turning. To my relief, my pack weren't ones who practiced the old-time tradition of starkness typical of most werewolf packs. My family back in Washington believed in modesty; whenever I turned with them—which was seldom—we all wore some manner of versatile clothing. I certainly wasn't prepared to get accustomed to nakedness just yet in my life.

We all dug into a sack, filled with undergarments that we kept in the back of the truck. My black-purple sports bra and spandex shorts were tied in a wad with a shoelace, similar to how the other girls' were.

Since all the boys had to do was strip down to their boxers, they waited for me and the girls to finish changing on the opposite side of the truck. Apparently, the girls all only did this for the sake of keeping their modesty in front of their brother-figures; their boyfriends had all already seen them naked, both for Turnings and other things. I blushed when Jasmine winked at me, and proceeded to brag of how wild, passionate, and crazy her first time with Elliot was; this earned a smug grin from him, and a couple humorous groans from the other guys.

That's when I saw Jasmine for what she really was: a female version of Elliot. She may be more often refined, proper, and maybe even nurturing, but she had the same dirty, taboo way of thinking that made the two of them blend together in harmony. I kept my eyes forward as I quickly shimmied out of my clothes and into my workout garments.

"Let's GOOAWROOOOHH!" Elliot and Vince howled together, leaping and bumping into one another. I grinned, shaking my head. The both of them could've passed for twins, if Elliot wasn't blonde, and when I looked at Ian, I could see just how much of his fairly lean body was covered in tattoos—tattoos of random Celtic symbols, cartoon characters, quotes, original designs and others of the like. The girls each pranced beside their male, while I lingered back a ways near Gohan, keeping a good five feet of distance between us.

It wasn't long at all until I could feel that rising fire in my gut, heightening to such a degree I knew I couldn't put it off much longer. My vision had sharpened with the widening enhancement of my pupils, allowing me to see the fine details of the tree leaves, each blade of grass, and the dim fireflies, all in darkness that would have been impenetrable by human eyes.

Striding ahead of me and the others, Gohan began to strut with a springy, proud gait. I could see his spine ripple and contort under his flesh. As the Alpha, he would be the one to Change first.

A nameless compulsion drove me toward him, prancing on my toes without the balls of my feet touching the ground. Letting the moonlight make its mark on my skin, I released all human restraints on my body and mind, allowing my form to warp and mold to the wolf beast I'd kept caged for far too long.

With their proud symphony of howls, the pack joined suit behind Gohan and I, shedding their human skins for wolf pelts. They all began pouncing and climbing on one another, the way I would play with my cousins, ages ago.

Elliot wanted to rough-house with Gohan, as a sort of continuum, I suppose, to the verbal punches thrown back at the bowling alley. After a few grunts and shoves, Gohan bared his teeth and tilted his ears back, tail up, and he gave a harmless snap toward his pack brother's muzzle.

Since he wouldn't get any action with Gohan, Elliot bounded over to me, his mouth closing on my scruff with a play-growl, though he was really testing me. I returned his gesture by pushing into him and locking my jaws around his arm—that same arm which he brought up from his four-beat stride to throw me off balance, sending me to the ground on my side.

I proved I wouldn't submit, even to my playful pack brother, as my defensive instincts kicked in and I lunged at him with snapping teeth, hackles standing on end. He gawked at me in surprise for a moment, which I didn't quite understand, before tilting his tail toward the ground submissively, and bumping me in the shoulder in friendly spirits. Jasmine trotted alongside him, throwing me a similar glance of acknowledgement of my little display correction and dominance.

_That's it, _Gohan's voice popped into my head, almost startling me. _Earn your keep. _When I glanced his way, his long wolf snout grinned, his incisor teeth sharp and pointed from under his canine lips. He picked up his quadruped pace until I had to be at a mild jog to keep at paces with him. From there, he burst to a full run, which I matched, as we cantered deeper into the forest, with the pack flanking on either side—staying close, but never setting one snout ahead of our lead.

It was amazing. I didn't even need to think about it. Running beside Gohan, shoulder-to-shoulder, ahead of my pack mates—now my subordinates—felt so natural and long-denied, that I couldn't imagine how I could have ever considered being content as a "lone wolf". This was what I'd been missing out on, being so sheltered, being so anti-social and distrusting of others of my brethren.

Gohan opened yet another door for me, and I would have been a fool not to have gone through it. Because now, with weeks of pent-up energy being released with each broad stride, crystal wind coursing through my lungs, my heart pounding with its soundless song of exhilaration and freedom—and knowing there was no limit to how far this high could last—I was truly alive.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hooooly moley this is a long one! It took me longer than expected to finish this up, particularly because the current pacing of the story mix-matches the notes I made for it, so I had to go back and make new brainstorm/timeline notes. **

**I hope this was fun to read :) I very much enjoyed writing the club/dancing scene…the hopeless romantic side of my writing persona was just all, "YES! I FINALLY GET TO WRITE SOME STEAMY STUFF!" Gohan and Jordane aren't gonna be "just friends" for very much longer, and things only get more complicated from here… 'Why do you have to go and make things so complicated...' Hehe sorry, had an old-school Avril Lavigne moment… x3**

**Anyways, since this is being posted the day after turkey day, depending on where you all are, I will say Happy (late) Thanksgiving! I've been at a bit of a block lately, but I'll work to get chapter 32 underway. These next few months are going to be busy for me, as I have some family matters and other things to work out and arrange, but I will try to write even in short bursts whenever I can. **

**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	32. 31: Complicated

**31. Complicated**

**_Gohan_**

It was just as I'd dreamt it. She fit into our family so flawlessly, without a single hitch, completing it by filling an empty spot we never realized we had. She was at home. Finally.

None of the pack bothered to test her after Elliot. They could all see by the way she carried herself—straight back, high tail, perked ears—that she was now undisputedly the most dominant female in the hierarchy. They respected her for that.

Yet, despite climbing high in the authority ladder, Jordane still displayed respect toward me as her Alpha, lowering her tail and gently bumping my arm whenever we walked close together. It wasn't long until she wanted to engage in play, nipping at my ears, pulling on my scruff, and climbing on top of me. I knew I could be rougher with her than my other pack-mates, so I took her up on it, returning soft nips and bumps and shoves.

Knowing Jordane, the fact she got ahead of herself wasn't surprising; soon, she exerted more of her weight to sway me from my confident stance, biting down on my skin and growling in challenge, just to see how far she could push her new authority.

I knew in any normal circumstance, she respected me enough as a person; but while we were like this, in a feral, wolfen frame of mind, she wanted to rival me, for the sake of rank in the pecking order. In return, I had to correct her in the same context when she had pushed her luck, forcing her under me and baring my teeth close to her face with a cautionary growl. It was difficult to keep my conscience from wandering to her body beneath me, just an inch away, yet that inch was static with rambunctious energy.

She lowered herself until her belly was scraping the ground, letting her ears flop in submission, and glancing up at me to show she understood, yet I could still see the playful soul within her that was disappointed I had laid down the law.

From there, she had no issue with trotting beside me, just as she'd been the first half of the night.

We stopped for a rest from our wandering by a small lake, a few dozen miles from the road that led to my house. Lapping the water up with my long tongue, the cool liquid was clean and clear, refreshingly soothing as it dribbled down my dry throat.

Upon hearing a loud splash, I saw Elliot guffawing with heavy laughs at the shoreline, and Ian's head popped out of the water. The water wasn't too deep to completely submerge him, but there wasn't an inch of him that didn't get wet. From there, jaunty play had broken out, and Vince and Elliot were wrestling, Renea and Jasmine had bound away with shrieks of laughter to prevent getting bumped into; Jade simply joined Ian in the lake, sitting on top of him with a twinkle in her eye. I kept my attention on my pack brothers, tilting my ears back and giving a certain eye to warn them against messing with me. However, I'd forgotten about another, who stood on my opposite side.

A force sent me stumbling forward and into the shallow end, face first. Shaking myself of water, I saw Jordane crouching on her feet at the shore, grinning. With a miniscule smirk, I sent water splashing her way. It didn't deter her; if anything, it only tempted her toward the water, and with a wide leap she dove into the deeper end. When she surfaced, she looked silly, as all of us did, with our naturally fluff coats heavy and wet, making us look like scraggly, odd creatures.

Climbing onto my back before I caught my bearings, Jordane drove me back into the water, but once I regained my footing, I was easily able to throw myself around in attempts to get her off. No such luck, and her laughter was contagious.

After we finished playing water games, all of us shed our wolf fur for human skin. I built a fire out of twigs and using my own tangible energy to set a spark. With the revitalizing summer breeze, the fire was able to breathe and grow, organic red limbs snapping and crackling up into empty air, cinders reaching for the sky but never to join the stars.

The campfire conversations ranged from random prattling, to playful debates, and fond memories. It wasn't long before the girls couldn't sit still, and Renea pulled Jasmine up to dance around the fire. Jade followed suit, but it was Jordane's figure I fixated on, as she didn't object to Renea's encouragement to join in. Her movements were free-flowing yet delicate—nothing close to what she unleashed on the dance floor at the club.

With a jab, the memory hit me like a flashflood, and my heart picked up in recalling the suffocating closeness between me and her in those moments; those thrillingly terrifying moments that set every inch of my body on fire with electric currents, and yet I couldn't get enough contact with her. I wanted to bind her to me, to feel the reverberating beat of her heart against me as intimately as I could hear it.

My face felt hot, but it wasn't from the bonfire. Before anyone could notice, I shook off whatever drunken, trance-like expression I had and focused on recomposing myself as the girls continued to have their fun. A part of me was still peeved with Jazz and Renea for getting Jordane 'dolled up'. They did so little—just gave her a new wardrobe, messed with her hair and gave her eyeliner—but it was just enough to amplify her natural beauty in such a way that made it all the more painful for me to look away from her or not want to be close to her. My eyes had scoped her body a little too intently when I saw her come out wearing that semi-transparent, form-fitting tunic, the leggings that hugged the curve of her hips and made her legs look like they were a mile long even with the skirt, and the black eyeliner that made the earthly brown color of eyes pop in vibrancy.

Then again, I partially had myself to blame for letting them take her for the "makeover" in the first place.

Everything about tonight should have raised a red flag; but there was still plenty room for me to convince myself I could keep this situation under control for the remainder of this peculiar affair.

The infant hours of the morning had crept up on us in no time at all, and the high buzz my pack had been running on finally began to lull down. We migrated to our safe haven—a log cabin only four-hundred square feet; just a large, open room and loft, complete with a bathroom. It was owned by Renea's parents, but it was all of ours, a cozy place to come and sleep on Full Moon runs, or when total isolation was needed—without sacrificing the necessities.

Since its purpose was for none other than sleep, plush cots were the only thing occupying the space, including the loft, since the mattresses were plenty large enough for two people. It shouldn't have frazzled me when I realized I'd be sharing a bed with Jordane, since we had no spare bunks, but sharing even more personal space with her was the last thing I needed.

We all mumbled our good nights and turned in. I was sure to keep as much space between Jordane and me as possible—which was a non-generous six inches—but sharing someone's body heat and space in a mattress was awfully difficult for me to ignore.

In spite of this, my heavy eyelids eventually slid closed, and I drifted off.

As to what stirred me a few hours later, I couldn't say; perhaps it was Elliot's comical snoring, or it was the internally blaring sensation that something—or someone—was touching me. My eyes were still heavy and aching to close again, but I rose on my elbows to see the source of the warmth along my leg, and found Jordane's feet draped across my shins. It was a warm night; neither of us was under the covers.

She appeared to be sleeping contentedly, in spite of the off-sided tilt she slept at—on her side, yet also on her belly, her back facing me. My eyes remained on her, taking advantage of the fact no one was looking—not even her. The simple loveliness of the moon shining in through the window and catching each vibrant strand of hair as it sprawled out behind her head on the pillow, or how it emphasized the pale skin of her toned waist and arms, illuminating the tranquil action of her breathing…it was so beautiful. My eyes continued lower, following the dipping arch in her back to the rising swell of her hips and backside. I blinked and quickly looked away before they could linger there for too long, the heat returning to my face. I just couldn't help myself; still, even for no longer being the totally naïve, innocent kid I used to be, I preferred not to even indulge in those thoughts.

I could barely stand at how easily fazed I was by her. One would think, spending all this time together, I'd be impervious toward her, but the more time that passed, the more I noticed her, the more I craved seeing her—in unhealthy ways.

I glanced around the dim, moon-lit room to my pack brothers, who all lay in their bunks, with their arms tucked around their mates, fitting together like little jig-saw puzzles. Another jab prodded at my chest. I'd never bothered to wonder what it would feel like, to have someone to sleep with, someone to keep warm, someone to share the intimate bubble of a good-night's sleep with… I never pondered on the sensation of waking up to a girl's smiling face, or falling asleep immersing myself in her scent and warmth, or feeling the softness of her hair against my face…

_You are losing your mind_, I snapped at myself, and I would have added a slap to it if I was alone.

Maybe I was just too tired to keep fighting with myself, or I made the move out of genuine affection, but against my better judgment, I carefully shifted onto my side, scooting an inch closer to Jordane, and I draped my right arm over hers. It wasn't completely wrapped around her, but the inkling gesture filled me with a sense of satisfaction. She was always so proud, so determined, I refrained from feeling like I had an obligation to protect her; here, she slept away contentedly, unknowing at how my arm draped across her body, creating a safe barrier, allowing me to safeguard her, even from something as intangible as nightmares.

The warmth of her and the soothing perfume of lavender coaxed me back to contented sleep.

The blank sheet behind my eyes was bright and invasive, coinciding with the exposed daylight. Everything was warm, pleasant; it was wonderful, and I didn't want it to be interrupted. I was too stirred, however; if it was broad daylight, we had other places to be, things to do—I couldn't sleep the day away.

Lavender, vanilla, dried summer grass; it was a bouquet that roused me awake, and the second I opened my eyes, I froze all movement. No longer was I looking at the back of Jordane's head, but her forehead rested in the crook of my arm and chest. Her breaths were even and calm, and she looked utterly happy right where she was. As to whether she knew just where that was, who knew.

_She has to know where she is right now…it's not like she sprawled out on me without realizing or noticing… _

A faint snigger came to my attention; there Elliot stood at the foot of the bed on Jordane's side, grinning at the both of us.

"Well, aren't you two just cute." He raised his phone to us, and I heard the artificial camera shutter sound emanate from it.

"You did not just…"

"Take a pic of you guys? Hell yeah. This precious Hallmark moment needs to be preserved."

Chagrined, I glared at him, wanting terribly to lunge for him—if it weren't for the fact I had someone using me for a pillow. He could see that peeved scorn in my eyes, but instead of slowly walking away while he had the chance, he continued to stand there and pester. "Aw, don't want to wake your sleeping princess, do you?"

"The 'sleeping princess' is already awake." The grumbled voice in my ear surprised me, and next either of us knew, Jordane sprung to life, her leg striking out for Elliot's crotch, which she missed by just a centimeter, when he stumbled back. He gawked at her, wide-eyed.

"You just tried to deck my nuts!"

"And if I hadn't just woke up, I would not have missed, so consider yourself lucky," Jordane said, her voice still thick with a tired drawl.

Making the smart choice to not push his luck, Elliot stepped out of the cabin; Jordane and I were the only ones who remained. Everyone else must have been up.

When our eyes met, I got the answer to my previous curiosity; she knew just where she was laying, as if she intentionally put herself there at some point during the night. I didn't know whether to feel joy or worry from this.

"We'd better head home," I finally said, rubbing my eyes—anything to distract myself from her ridiculously adorable, frazzled bed-head look.

* * *

><p>The twilight sun had long set behind the mountains, leaving the world dark and dry with crisp summer air. It was perfect for an endurance run, for which my father accompanied Jordane and I. Of course, we weren't booking at our fastest, but Jordane's speed had grown considerably, and she was able to keep up with us at a rather impressive pace.<p>

My ears caught something unusual, and no longer than a second after did I notice Jordane was no longer beside me. I ground my heels into the earth, stopping dead in my tracks. Dad and I both called to her, backtracking, and it didn't take long for me to find her on her feet at the bottom of the incline. What really caught my attention was the person standing her off just a few feet away.

"What the hell…," I growled, lancing down the hillside.

"Sid," Dad exclaimed in confused accusation, looking at him and then to Jordane.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Just thought I'd drop by to visit, say hey. Couldn't help but notice you and your little play-buddy bouncing around all over the place."

"Well, screw off."

"Awh, come on, now. You're training the girl, aren't you? Why not let me join in for a lesson?"

Somehow, Jordane and I both snorted in unison with the same dismissing humor. "You want me to pin her against you…as a test?"

"Why not? It'd be good for her, don't you think? She needs to get a wake-up call now before you get her in too deep with all this."

"I need a 'wake-up call'?" Jordane snapped, standing taller now.

"Exactly, little half-breed. You see, you may be part Saiyan, but truth be told, you don't have the stones to be one of us. Gohan just barely managed to, because he's been influenced and taught by real Saiyans all his life; you, on the other hand, are defective stock."

Before I could retort my cousin's arrogant declaration, Jordane laughed. When I looked at her, she had her jaw crookedly set, her tongue between her teeth. "Gohan, let me at him."

"…Excuse me?"

"Why not let me use him as a little test to see how far I've progressed? You can't be the only one beating the crap out of him, so let me have a go."

A flat-out "no" was on the tip of my tongue, and then I stopped to ponder it over. Sid was weak by my standards, but he was still a Saiyan; he had considerable power and strength, and if this scenario were unfolding before me a month ago, I would have done anything to prevent Jordane from going toe-to-toe with him. Now, I felt confident in what I'd taught her and how far she's come to let her have at Sid.

He must have been expecting me to object with everything I had, because once I said, "I don't see why not", Sid's eyebrows shot up and he glanced over at me. He grinned. "This is going to be fun."

"For me," Jordane snorted, clenching her fists, and setting her legs to maneuver him when he struck, which, surprisingly, was before she did. Sloppy.

I couldn't help but bark commands in my head as to how Jordane should respond, and yet, as if she could hear me, she executed each other them; ducking from Sid's kick, blocking his punch, flipping over his head… Then she went on the assault, decking him in the ribs, tripping him at the ankle, thrusting the heel of her hand into his nose; I just sat there and watched with a stupid proud grin on my face. I could only assume Dad was doing the same.

He had greater faith in Jordane than I did, as it would turn out, when Sid finally landed a blow to her cheek, sending her spiraling to the ground; Dad's firm hand clasped my shoulder before I could charge forward. I looked at him, only to find him smiling, and his eyes spoke the words, "Have faith, let her fight her own battles."

Jordane bounced back and hit Sid even harder, kicking him in the stomach and striking him in the jaw with her fist. I heard a clear _crack_.

When he hit the ground, Sid groaned, clasping his jaw with his hand. She'd broken his jaw.

"Who's the defective stock now?" Jordane snorted, standing tall while Sid writhed on the ground like the pathetic ingrate he was. I realized then, even with Jordane's inexperience and Sid's natural-born strength, he'd bitten off more than he could chew before the fight even started.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you judge someone based on their bloodlines," Dad said to Sid, who struggled to stand on his feet, obviously disoriented. Jordane must have hit him even harder than I thought if he looked as if he could be seeing stars.

"Shcrew hyou," Sid grumbled, glaring at my father and I both. He shot Jordane one last venomous scowl before apparating from sight. When Jordane turned to face me, I laughed at the ridiculous grin of victory she had on her face. It was bright enough to illuminate the entire forest.

For the remainder of the night, Jordane and I lounged out in the living room long after everyone else had gone to bed, and we watched footage of past Martial Arts tournaments, particularly any and all my father and his friends participated in.

Since I'd seen these videos countless times before, the awkward amusement from seeing the kid version of my father was no longer prominent; at this point in my life, it was more an enthralling merriment.

It was the same for Jordane, I could see, as she gaped at the screen, observing and analyzing each frame and action of the footage. The most we chatted about was the match between my father and Tienshinhan—formerly his rival, now a good friend. In present day, Tien's power was a grain of sand compared to the vast limitlessness of my father's power, but way back then, the two of them were equals.

I shared random notes about technique, flaws, stamina, rules; anything that would benefit Jordane in her future matches, I made sure to be known for future reference.

Indulging in a piece of my family history with Jordane was invigorating; she was seeing a piece of my heritage that didn't involve war and death. It was mere tradition—a normal family tradition, in which she obviously held respect for.

The influence of the footage resonated in her mood even days afterward; she would ask my father to teach her a signature move of his from back in the day, and he would teach her the said move, which she'd master within the first couple of tries.

* * *

><p>The final day of training, it was just her and I, sparring near the creek, putting all she'd learn to the test in a prolonged match throughout the entire afternoon. The sun was high and scolding; I actually had beads of sweat trickling down my forehead and even down my back. For Jordane, she was in a similar state, although a degree more winded and in need of rest than I was.<p>

"Five more days," I exhaled, sitting in the cool grass under the shade. Jordane was by the creek, scooping water into her hands and drenching her neck and face. I tried to ignore the innocent movement.

"Yep." She walked over toward the shade, but didn't sit down, to my surprise. No, she was too busy taking in the scenery around her once again, in spite of having seen it dozens of times in the thirty days she'd been here.

"Do you feel ready?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm kind of nervous, still, though."

"That's all right," I assured her. I knew what concerned her—the stage fright, mostly; she was strong, though. "Trust me, once you're out in that arena and the match starts, that crowd is going to fade from your mind, and it'll never cross it again." For now, however, I could tell something else was drifting on her mind, something she looked too timid to bring up.

"What's on your mind?"

"It's nothing," she said, with a dismissive twitch of her hand. Not very enthusiastic.

"Come on," I encouraged. "Is there something else you want to go over, or…?"

"More like something else I'd like to learn how to do."

What else could there be? I've taught her everything valuable she could ever need to use. "And what might that be?"

She didn't look at me, her mouth turning up into a shy smirk. Crossing her arms, she stood above me, and finally gazed down to look me in the eye with a sudden determination.

"I want you to teach me the Kamehameha."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm BAAAACK! Go to next chapter for a longer author's note/update. **

**- J**

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	33. 32: Jekyll and Hyde

**Part Two**

_"__Let our scars fall in love."_

_- Galway Kinnell_

* * *

><p><strong>32. Jekyll and Hyde<strong>

**_Jordane_**

The night before the tournament was the night I barely got any sleep, because the apprehension was getting to me all too easily. I had everyone in the Son house assuring me that it would all be fine, that I would do wonderfully, but still, as with any and all new experiences I prepare to undertake, the anticipation of the unknown that awaited me got under my skin.

When the morning came, I was actually relieved; relieved so I could get up out of bed, take a shower, and just move. I couldn't take the sitting still anymore.

"Jordane?" There was a knock on my door as I finished packing. I invited Chichi in, and she held a box under one arm. "Almost ready?"

"Yep," I exhaled, stuffing all of the clothes I brought with me into the duffle bag. I had it all arranged; on the left were regular clothes, on the right were my training clothes and pajamas. My socks and underwear tucked in the outward pocket, toiletries in a bag in the opposite pocket; I normally wasn't this organized, but the nervous energy made me more of a neat freak than normal.

"I have something for you." Chichi handed me the box; it was flat and long, something I've seen clothes come in for many Christmases.

Taking it, I opened the lid, staring quizzically at the garments inside before I realized just what they were. Chichi, however, announced it.

"It's your own gi uniform. I started it a few weeks ago, glad I finished it in time."

"You _made_ this?"

She smiled proudly, her black eyes beaming with genuine kindness that rarely surfaced above her articulate obstinateness. Looking at the gi once again, I noticed an insignia stitched flawlessly over the left chest area. At first, it looked like a bunch of random intercrossing lines, but my eyes and mind began to divulge a pattern. In the circle, was a caricaturized "Z", with an elegant design of outlines crossing through its middle section. I run my fingers over it, the risen pattern of the stitches soft.

"It's the crest of the Turtle Hermit, who Goku originally trained under when he was just a boy. Since he's passed down some of his knowledge to you, I figure that makes you a member of the Turtle House as anything will. Wear it with pride, yes?"

"I will," I promised.

The box was just narrow enough to fit in the leftover space in my duffle bag, which I carefully nestled it above my clothes. I would take it out and try it on later.

Since there would be a great deal of festivities and casual mingling before any real business started, I changed into some green camouflage shorts and black tank top. The summer temperatures weren't skyrocketing hot, but it was warm and humid; not my favorite combination.

Goten was running on that fresh morning high, in spite of still looking tired; he would crash before the afternoon came, I'm sure. Goku got things ready with a content indifference, and Gohan… He was thoughtfully quiet; he hid his excitement in his eyes, while his face, his body, and his movements were calculated and systematized.

Every time our eyes met, it was like an electric jolt. As though we had gone back in time and were at the point of being acquaintances, trying not to look at the other—or at least not get caught looking—it was a game just like that, ever since the Full Moon. Oh, don't get me wrong, we've worked together since then, but the both of us made sure neither was looking at the other when we had no logical reason to.

Too many nights, I've had dreams of us running together in wolf pelt—alone—and seeking refuge someplace to lay together, like we did in that cabin, when I woke up in the middle of the night to find Gohan's arm loosely draped around my waist; I still remembered the fluttering surprise in my heart, and the tickling delight that coaxed me to scoot even closer to him, to indulge myself just that once.

Still, I didn't pursue anything, because I wanted to respect the deal we made with each other, even if a part of me was still itching to experience all those forbidden pleasures with him.

I had to call my mother in advance to let her know I wouldn't be answering my phone a lot of the day because I was in a big show. As with everything else about this whole thing, she bought it. Whether or not I'd keep up this lie after the tournament was done and over with, I was still unsure. Either way, I knew I'll be glad once I no longer had to keep up a charade every time I talked to my mother.

After we finished breakfast, we were out the door and driving for the city, where we were meeting the rest of Gohan's family friends at a place called Capsule Corporation. My pre-existing nerves from earlier this morning intensified the more Goku went on about all of his friends that would be waiting for us—waiting to meet me. Meeting a new individual was flustering in itself; a whole posse left my stomach crawling with anticipation.

Capsule Corporation, a beige-colored dome building, was massive, and upon actually arriving on the property, it had outbuildings and extensions expanding over a thirty-acre parcel smack-dab in the middle of the city.

In spite of the large, green yard, it seemed everybody was waiting for us inside, for there wasn't a soul in sight outside the building. Inside, everything was very contemporary and clean; the tile floor just sparkled, and I could see my reflection.

I followed Gohan and his family as they navigated through the channel of halls and corridors, and after far too many turns, we closed in on a pair of sliding glass doors, which opened for us as soon as we'd gotten close enough. My eyes look beyond the small patio and drank in the indoor oasis that lay before me. It was impossible to guess the acreage, but hell, it was an enclosed valley! Grass, trees, and even a pond in the distance; the closest I'd ever been to a place like this was in my head. What made it even better—and possible for any of the vegetation to be thriving—was the domed ceiling, made of glass and solar panels.

_Okay, I could live here… _

A bundle of voices greeted Goku when we came through, and made their way to Chichi, Goten, Gohan, before all eyes fell on me. There were so many faces, I couldn't register them right off the bat, but the first to greet me was a woman with eye-popping bright blue hair. She smiled and pulled me in for a hug; the gesture caught me off guard.

"Hi!" she beamed. "You must be Jordane! I'm Bulma."

"Nice to meet you," I responded, forcing my voice to be strong when I wanted to be quiet.

Others gathered around us; most of them—if not all—were men, men of various heights, physique, hairstyles, and attitude. Two of them offered me a welcoming smile and handshake; a tan-skinned, black haired man named Yamcha, and a shorter man named Krillin, who had a downy short layer of black hair covering his head. He then introduced me to his wife, who had the bizarre name of Eighteen. She was very beautiful, though, with bright blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and her voice when she spoke was smooth and sultry. Anyone who looked at the two of them wouldn't think they'd be a couple; she had a fair few inches on her husband, not to mention she was, what other people would say, 'out of his league'.

The third man to greet me rendered me a little speechless, for he had a third eye, right in his forehead. When he gave me his name, Tien, I recognized him then; he was one of Goku's past rivals I saw on the tournament footage Gohan showed me. He was very collected and quiet, as was the chalky-white little boy who accompanied him, named Chiatzou. After them, came a woman, with long, deep blue hair, and with a voice that made me think of a field of daisies, for some odd reason. She introduced herself as Launch, and she "lived with" Tien. As to what that meant—if they were a couple, simple companions, or just roomies—I wasn't sure.

After all that, I met Bulma's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Brief, and Bulma's son, Trunks, who didn't linger long enough to do proper introductions; he and Goten bounded off for their favorite play-place.

"Isn't anybody going to introduce me to the new pupil?" an elderly voice called from the back. It didn't take long for me to spot the small old man as he walked closer. He dressed in a tropical shirt and shorts, carrying a wooden staff, although he seemed to walk perfectly well. His beard was white and trimmed, while his head was shimmering with baldness; the sunglasses he wore prevented me from seeing his eyes.

"Master Roshi," Gohan greeted him, and there was an awkward shift in his voice. "This is Jordane; Jordane, this is Master Roshi. He was my father's master and tutor back in the day."

So this was the Turtle Hermit, Goku's master, and the person responsible for Goku and Gohan's martial arts careers. "It's an honor to meet you," I said properly, nodding my head in a bow of respect.

Master Roshi chuckled. "Oh my, you sure know how to flatter an old man. So, tell me, er, how old are you?"

The question was odd and random, but I answered. "Sixteen."

"Do you have a boy in your life?" He spoke with a business-like demeanor, but it didn't match the look in his small eyes that peeked over his sunglasses.

"Um, not really, no."

"Oh. So, you and Gohan aren't…?"

"No."

"No."

"Ah. Well then—"

"Don't even, old man," Bulma suddenly snapped, her brows giving her a mean look as she glared at Master Roshi. I just stood there, confused. "I see that disgusting look in your eyes, back off."

I looked to Gohan for an explanation, but he just gawped into empty air, brows furrowed. His eyes briefly fluttered to me, his mouth opening. "O-okay, uh…Jordane, how about I take you on a tour of the building." It wasn't a question; he was practically pulling me for the doors we came through by my arm.

"Don't be long, you two! We leave in an hour!" Bulma called from behind us.

"What was that all about?" I asked once Gohan and I were down the hall. He looked uncomfortable.

"Master Roshi was about to put the moves on you, so to speak."

It took me a minute to digest that. "…What…?"

"That's just how he's always been. He's very…perverse, to put it lightly."

I hummed in agreement, still trying to grasp the fact I was being hit on by a man old enough to be my grandfather.

"That aside," Gohan continued, "He's not that bad. Underneath all that, he is a man of honor…just in rare cases."

"I'll take your word for it."

Because Capsule Corporation was so large, he couldn't possibly show me the entire building, or every room in it for that matter; most of what we explored were utility rooms, and even an apartment, which Gohan then went to inform me was just one of the four, not including the main house the Brief family occupied.

Toward the end of the loop we were about to make on our way back, we passed a peculiar door at the end of a corridor off to the right. It was a full metal door, like one of the many used on ships and submarines.

"What's in that room?" I asked curiously. Gohan looked at it dismissively.

"It's the gravity room. Bulma made it for her husband, but my dad and I have used it on more than one occasion. It's one of our many tools for training."

"So, she found a way to create a controlled environment where you can alter gravity? How far can you go—I mean, how intense can the gravity be?"

"The highest I've ever gone is…five-hundred times earth's gravity."

I could barely utter the words, for I couldn't even comprehend them in my mind. Gohan just stood and watched with amused eyes as I tried to wrap my head around it. "S-she was able to do that?"

"Well, her and her father, but yes. Pretty wicked, isn't it?"

"Wicked and scary… I mean, if that technology ever fell into the wrong hands…" I looked at Gohan, dumbfounded, when he laughed.

"Don't worry. Bulma created a sensor cut-off switch for this thing; if someone tried to take the room's gravity dispenser, it would shut off if taken anywhere outside that room. Plus, any and all notes or blueprints of it were destroyed, because everything the Briefs need to make another should they need to is all in their heads."

"Ah. Good to know."

Something heavy shifted, metal on metal, and air hissed. The door to the gravity room opened, and from its threshold emerged a man with blatantly spiked hair. I thought Goku's was a crazy 'do; this guy's hair was straight upright in a spiked mountain of black locks, with a prominent hairline, and no bangs. He was shirtless, his torso covered in scars; I didn't want to begin to imagine what battles he'd been in to earn those.

"Vegeta," Gohan greeted as the man walked closer to us. So this was Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince I've heard about.

If Gohan hadn't said anything, I doubt he would have even acknowledged us. Then again, he only glanced at Gohan briefly, not saying a word, until his eyes fell on me. His walking slowed to a stop. This close to us, I was surprised to see he was shorter than Gohan, but still a few inches taller than me. The way his hard eyes studied me was unsettling. It wasn't in the typical way; no, he was sizing me up, like a lion observing an intruder in his territory.

"Added another one to your harem, have you?" His voice was gruff and deep, prominently unkind.

"This is a friend of mine; I've been training her for the martial arts tournament."

Vegeta's eyes returned to me, and he smirked mockingly. "A little thing like her, in the tournament? Better hope your rookie training skills don't end up getting her killed."

"She's a Saiyan."

That shut him up. When Vegeta looked at me again, there was an alert skepticism in his eyes. I remained unshaken. "Where are your Saiyan parents?" he demanded.

"The only Saiyan parent I had was my father, and he died before I was born."

"How convenient," he spat, cynical judgment thickening his tone. "So you're only half Saiyan, then?"

"I'm half Saiyan, half _loup-garou_. Like Gohan."

As if annoyed, Vegeta groaned. "So, your Saiyan father died before you were born, eh? How do you know you're a Saiyan, then?"

"My mother made sure it was known to me when I was old enough to understand it. And she isn't the woman who would tell me I'm part of an alien race if it weren't true." I made sure to keep a bite to my tone, to challenge Vegeta's cocky authority. When his eyes moved to my hips, he angled his head as if to look at my ass. I was about to deck him for it before he asked, "And what of your tail?"

"Removed when I was an infant."

"Vegeta," Gohan grumbled. "There's no need to interrogate her. What would she have to gain by lying to us about being a Saiyan? Lay off." Vegeta challenged Gohan's glare with his own. The contest of power and authority was so strong, I was wound and prepared for them to break out in a fist-fight.

When Vegeta huffed, he walked onward, leaving Gohan and I alone in the hall. "Well…," I sighed. "He's certainly…intense."

"Mhm," Gohan agreed, putting his hands back in his pockets. "He's every unpleasant trait you could expect in royalty."

"And he's married to Bulma, right? Man, how does she put up with him?"

Grinning, Gohan snickered. "They share a common personality trait, is all I can say."

We met up with the others outside, where they loaded a large cargo aircraft of sorts; I'd never seen the design before. I placed my luggage beside Gohan's in the cargo area, then moved to the cabin, which held an open pilot's cockpit and seats, and behind it were four rows of booths. Of course, Gohan and I shared one; I sat closest to the window.

Unlike my first experience flying in an aircraft, I no longer felt anxiety or panic being so high up in the air; there was no dreadful vertigo when I gazed out the window and saw the massive land, first covered by skyscrapers, then rolling hills, and then the endless expansion of the blue sea.

"So, Jordane, why hasn't your family come? Don't they want to see you compete?" Bulma asked from the pilot's seat; her address turned everyone's attention to me.

I quickly gathered my story. "My mom had to work; she's finally closing the biggest sale of the month right now, and she couldn't take the time off and miss it."

"Awh, that's a shame," Bulma expressed. "An event like this should be shared with family."

"We are here in her mother's place, though," Chichi said, smiling at me from across the aisle. I smiled in return, hoping they couldn't see the awkward alarm behind it. Gohan gave me an assuring side-smirk, discreetly patting my knee casually to add to the gesture.

I couldn't know how long the trip took; it could have been hours—hours of just looking out to blue water on blue sky… So I was relieved and apprehensive when Bulma announced, "We're here!"

Through the expansive windshield, I could see the slopes of the island mountains, and, as we circled to find the airport, towns and skyscrapers were discernable. I even spotted a coastal amusement park.

The air traffic and runway were insanely overcrowded; we had to circle the island three times before Bulma could fly into the air pattern and land on the runway. Once the craft was parked, we proceeded to grab our luggage and make for the outside. The moment fresh sea air flooded into my lungs, I felt rejuvenated already.

Something I noticed right off-hand was a cluster of people with microphones and hefty camera equipment; they were all confined behind a barrier, with bouncers supervising and keeping them from swarming the parties of martial artists who exited off their aerial vehicles and transportation.

I saw a few of the closest reporters focus on me—or the group, I couldn't be sure—for she point in our direction, murmured something to her camera man and he aimed his camera lens at us. Through the roar of the jet engines, I couldn't quite make out any words from across the short distance.

"Just keep walking, don't acknowledge them," Gohan murmured in my ear. I did as he told me.

I guess the press wasn't allowed in the airport, for there wasn't a news crew or reporter in sight as we made our way through the terminal. Outside, large touring vans awaited us. I had to be squeezed in the backseat by Gohan to give Goku room to fit with us. I was prepared for the entire ride to be awkward, as most of our close encounters have been, but Gohan simply flung his arm up and around, laying it across the back of the seat—behind my shoulders. He was no longer touching me, but I couldn't shake of the presence of his arm circling me. When I looked at him, he wasn't as guarded as he'd been the entire morning; he glanced back at me and smiled one of those rare, beaming ear-to-ear smiles, then looked ahead as the van drove off. He was getting genuinely excited now. That made it easier for me to shrug off my timid discomfort and feed off from him, to the point I could barely stand sitting still in the damned vehicle anymore. I was relieved when we arrived at our destination.

The tournament grounds were in the heart of a community villa, filled with concession stands, outlet stores; the carnival and fairgrounds was right along the rocky coast, and the archway entrance to the tournament grounds already had a line wrapping around the block. A majority of what I could see were all male, ranging from lanky and lean to tall and burly.

For an hour, I stared at the old stone wall beside me, observing and analyzing each tactful, perfect etching and carving in its solid mass. Many of the images were of long, entwining dragons and gargoyle heads. It entertained my mind long enough until a delicate sound broke my concentration; someone sneezed. I didn't think much of it, until I felt Gohan's hand on my shoulder, drawing me closer to him with a precautionary, "Watch out."

"What the hell is the hold-up?!" a tough feminine voice bellowed. When I looked, I saw a wavy blonde-haired woman marching around the line; she rummaged through the bag she had strapped around her shoulders.

"Hey, bitch, no cutting in line!" a burly man objected, grabbing her by the arm. My jaw dropped when the girl swung around and shoved a hefty-looking rifle in the man's face. "You wanna try that again, muscle-head?!"

The crowd scattered like alarmed sheep, especially once the girl started firing her rifle into the air.

"What is she doing? Hell, who is she?"

"That…is Launch," Gohan answered.

The sweet blue-haired lady who didn't look like she could even pick a flower from a garden? "Wha…"

"She's got this strange condition where every time she sneezes, she morphs into her alternate personality—both physically and mentally. No one really knows how in the heck it works…"

"So…it's like a real extreme case of schizophrenia?"

"Sort of," he chuckled, watching Launch do her thing; he didn't appear at all concerned for the well-being of the civilians. "Thankfully, Tien convinced her to start carrying hollow round ammunition for when she has her little episodes… I think just scaring the daylights out of people and getting her way is enough amusement for her."

"Get out of the way!" Launch barked, and she gestured for us. Her green eyes were stubborn, haughty, and downright indifferent toward the drama she'd just created. "C'mon, guys, this express lane ain't gonna be open all day!"

Heh, how about that… She thinned the crowd so we could get through registration quicker… It was so unfair and childishly immoral, but the way she did it was so awesome, I didn't have a lot of room to feel too bad about it. "I like her," I said to Gohan, grinning. He smirked in return.

Gohan, myself, and those who were competing signed our names on the roster. Turned out, only Goku, Vegeta, Krillin, and Piccolo—who met up with us just a few moments ago—would be all who would compete. Apparently, the others felt it was pointless entering a competition with Vegeta, Goku, or Gohan, but they still came simply to support and indulge in the old tradition. Krillin and Piccolo, I supposed, just wanted to get a feel of "old times", even though they stood no chance against either Goku or Gohan.

Launch lingered by the front of the pack, brandishing her rifle, rested against her chest, as we strolled through the town walkway. Our own personal, gun-wielding bouncer to thin out the crowds, how convenient.

At first, I was nervous to make eye contact with her, worried she would take offense to it, but upon getting more than a few peeks at her rifle, my "quiet" switch flipped off. "Holy… Hey," I gently coaxed her attention toward me, and she raised a brow. "Is that an FG-Forty-Two?"

Launch grinned, adjusting her hold on the rare, antique rifle. I recognized it by its hefty, flaring stock, long barrel, rounded muzzle tip, and scope. It was clean and exquisite. I'd only ever seen this particular gun once before, in a display case that belonged to one of my uncle's friends, who was an antique gun collector.

Launch allowed me to get a closer look to see the fine details, like the delicate engraving on the side of the stock.

"Those were used in Germany in World War Two, how did you get your hands on one of these?" I expressed in awe.

"I have my ways," was all she said with a proud grin.

We managed to get around without Launch needing to fire off another shot, thankfully. It was amusing the first time, but I couldn't help but feel our presence warranted enough attention as it was, without firing off a rifle.

The next task was to get everyone settled in hotels. These particular hotel suites were for competitors and their guests only. The hotel itself was against the cliff-side ocean shore, while the tournament grounds themselves were just the opposite ways down the path.

Before we went to the check-in lobby, everyone made arrangements as to who would be sharing rooms. Just as it crossed my mind when I was going to see my pack, I spotted them; Elliot made himself boisterously known as he came up and gave Gohan and I a hug; the others soon followed. Though it'd only been a couple weeks since I saw them, I felt relieved and warm to have them around me again.

"Oh my god…Jordane!" The outcry was so unexpected and yet the voice sounded familiar; it roused an instinctual response, but my eyes immediate locked on to a female figure hurdling toward me.

"Sara!" I exclaimed, nearly breathless, as she and lanky Ashlyn threw themselves at me. Normally, this attack would have wavered my footing and send me stumbling, but I didn't budge this time.

Sara shrieked as we parted, jumping up and down as we grinned at one another. Behind them, I could see Cristine and Amanda smiling. Quickly sharing a squeeze with Cristine, I then went to Amanda, drawing her in for a prolonged hug. When I looked at her, she looked well; well-rested, healthy light in her eyes…

"What are you guys doing here?" I joyously asked.

"We came to watch you kick some ass, of course," Ashlyn proclaimed. "We even made a poster!" She pulled up a piece of thick poster paper and written in marker was _Go Jordane!_, along with other little phrases like _Queen B_, _Open A Can of Whoop-Ass!_, and whatnot written along the corners.

"Well, how did you guys even get here?"

"Your buddy Gohan bought us admission tickets; they showed up in our mailboxes with a letter from him and everything," Sara answered.

_Gohan? _I turned back to glance at my trainer and friend, who stood off a ways. He was already looking in my direction, but once his eyes met mine, he smiled and winked. I would have run over and given him a proper thank you—maybe even a hug—but became distracted by my friends; Ashlyn and Sara each wrapped an arm around me, with Cristine and Amanda walking on either side.

We were all signed in and given keycards for rooms; all four of the girls were able to share a four-bed suite, while Gohan directed me to the section for competitors. I said a brief farewell to my friends and joined him in the other wing, noticing that no one else was accompanying us as we stood in front of a door.

"The competitor's suites only have two beds each, and I figured you'd be all right with sharing a room," Gohan explained as he slid the keycard in the slot. I nodded, though my stomach instantly tightened a smidgen. Sharing a hotel room with Gohan—just the two of us? This ought to be interesting…

Our room was practical, yet spacious; two queen-sized beds up against a wall, adjacent to a singularly large window; across from them, a small sofa and luxury chair, in the corner by the window. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall above the lounging corner, and a pair of bi-fold wooden doors was half-opened; I curiously investigated to find a surprisingly generous bathroom. Double sinks, private toilet and shower behind swinging doors that hung a few feet off the ground. A little window allowed natural light.

"I call dibs on this one," I said, hopping onto the bed closest to the window—which had a panoramic ocean view on the other side. Gohan smirked, as if he wasn't surprised.

"It's yours. I thought you'd want that one."

"So…what happens now?" Sitting on my bed, I began rummaging through my duffle bag idly.

"Qualifying is an hour away. So, best to start getting ready now, especially if you want to get something to eat beforehand."

Eat? Yeah, no. My stomach was full enough with butterflies and overexcited muscle spasms to even think of eating. "Nah, I'm good." My hands found the small box that Chichi had given me with the gi in it. I was actually thrilled to try it on. I opened the box and began to unravel the outfit, to find it wasn't quite what I expected.

The top—if you could even call it that—wasn't a traditional, full-covered robe or sweatshirt; it was cropped and sleeveless. I simply hummed, taking to the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

When I slipped the top on, I didn't know whether to laugh or just gawk at myself in the mirror. It folded nicely at the chest like a robe would, but the elastic hem left half of my abdomen exposed; like a sports bra with a five-inch thick elastic band.

I groaned indecisively, looking at the exposed skin on my abs. _Well, it could be a lot worse, I suppose. _

The pants were a solid and thick fabric, but airy and comfortable at the same time. The thick-banded sash was a heavy silk, the color of metallic gray. It contrasted nicely with the black outfit—if I could put it on right. There was an art behind wrapping these sashes, as I saw whenever Goku or Gohan would wear them, and it was far too long for me to just circlet once through the hoops on the pants like a traditional belt. On my fifth unsuccessful try, with either too loose, not folding right, or losing my place, I exited the bathroom. I wasn't at all too stunned that Gohan's brows shot up at what I wore.

"Interesting choice of wardrobe for you," he said with an unsure edge, as if he wasn't certain of any further reaction to give.

"Your mother made it for me," I sighed, shrugging. "Look, can you help me tie this sash?"

Without question, he agreed, although I could see his demeanor tense up more. I handed him the sash and stood beside him as he sat on the edge of the bed. My hands rested high on my hips; the pants didn't ride very low, which I was thankful for. I watched as his hands delicately brought the sash through each belt-loop, being very careful to not make contact with me. His eyes didn't leave his hands, either. The whole room reeked of all too deliberate avoidance of awkwardness, all the while making the dreadful feeling all the more potent.

Finally, his head tilted up, and his eyes found mine for the first time in what felt like hours. He grinned. "Would you like me to tie it in a pretty bow for you?"

I dropped my mouth in an exaggerated frown, setting my brows over my eyes to accentuate the glare. He laughed, and the stiffness around us finally dissipated. He wrapped a secure knot—off to the side, on my hip—and then went to change into his own clothes. I decided to tie my hair up in a ponytail last minute before heading out the door.

We met up with the others outside the hotel grounds, and my friends swarmed around me once more. Gohan, Goku, and his immediate family friends walked ahead of us, and the rest of the gang lingered behind me.

I noticed how Sara's eyes stayed locked in front of us, even as our group talked and exchanged conversation. Glancing in the same direction, I shouldn't have been surprised to see it was Gohan she was gawking at.

I tightened my grip around her neck, bringing her attention back to me. "Ow," she complained softly.

"Stop staring at him," I snapped quietly, hoping Gohan was too busy talking with his dad to hear. Sara made a pouty face.

"Oh come on. Can't I appreciate him? He's freaking hot!"

Cringing, I quickly glanced toward Gohan; his head flinched slightly in our direction, and I knew he heard her.

"Are you two, uh…?"

"What? No," I answered, and Sara grinned.

"So, you won't mind if I give it a shot?"

"I do mind."

"But you just said—"

"He's my best friend, Sara! Besides, he's not looking for anybody to date at the moment. He's not too big on the whole idea of dating, ever, really."

"So he's like you?" Sara said with an amused edge, smirking at me. I nodded indifferently.

"Yeah, he's kinda like me."

"I've got to admit, how in the hell have you been able to keep your sanity, living under the same roof with him?" Ashlyn popped into the conversation, raising her thin little brows.

"It was easy," I snapped.

"Ah, leave her alone," Cristine intervened, smirking at me. "She's getting all grumpy. Better not keep poking the beehive."

At the entrance to the arena and prep areas was where we separated from the group. I followed Goku, Gohan, and the other guys into the warm-up arena. Emerging from the long hallway, the warm-up arena was expansive, and yet, according to Gohan, was only a small fraction of the main arena's size. It was filled with countless martial artists; all men, from what I could see.

"Are all of these people competing?" I asked in amazement.

"Not all. They have an elimination process, from there are the preliminary bouts, and then the real competition will start, in the main arena," Gohan explained. "It's quite a lengthy event, that's why the whole festival around it lasts a few days."

"Ah."

"Hey, Goku! Krillin!" A blonde man wearing a blue-black dress-jacket and sunglasses was jogging up toward us; apparently happy, given he had a smile on his face. Goku and Krillin greeted him in the way old acquaintances do. "So good to see you, fellas! I was hoping you guys would be competing this year!"

"We wouldn't miss it," Goku said with a big smile.

The blonde man's focus shifted to me; his brows shot straight up. "Who is this?"

"This is Jordane," Goku answered, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, while smiling at me. "She's our pupil."

"No kidding! You guys are taking pupils now?"

"No, she's just special; we had to take her in." I couldn't help but smile a little at his comment.

"Oh. Interesting. So, what is she like a distant relative oooorrr something?" There was a hook at the end of the man's question, and I could feel his gaze shift to Gohan behind his sunglasses.

"She's just a good friend," Gohan answered politely.

"Just a good friend, huh? So you two aren't like, an item, or anything?"

"No," Gohan and I both chimed together. I'd answered that question so many times at this point, the inclination behind it no longer bothered me to the point my answers weren't so defensive.

"Aw, that's too bad. We need another Goku-and-Chichi-type love story here in the world of martial arts!" the man chuckled, nudging Goku with his elbow. Gohan only chuckled stiffly, and I only kept smiling for the sake of being polite. "Well, look, I'm glad you guys are here, can't wait to see you kick ass in the arena. Just…try not to destroy it this time, 'kay?" The man then directed his hidden gaze to Piccolo, who smirked.

"We'll try," he murmured softly, though I could tell he wouldn't be making any promises.

From this point, we massed toward the east wall, lounging there away from the crowds. Piccolo stood and leaned against the wall, arms folded and head bowed in an attempt to meditate. As to how he could in the middle of all this madness, I couldn't fathom. His passive silence was something that made me uncomfortable, but in spending that week with him and the boys camping, his ever-aware taciturnity was rather comforting.

Vegeta was also silent, but not in any peaceful way whatsoever. I watched the way his eyes flicked over each and every face amongst us; the look in his face was so superior, as if every person here was beneath him. Obviously, he didn't come here for the festivities or for the fun; he just wanted to have an excuse to beat the shit out of people.

"Fighters, the preliminary selection will now begin," a man blared over the microphone, startling me from my deep thoughts. "We will call your name from the registration roster, and you will come forth to have your strength measured by the Counter." The short, stubby man gestured toward a strange-looking piece of machinery; it just looked like a cluster of gears and steel, with a large, circular pad as the main front. "If you receive a high counter score for the amount of force measured in the strength of a single punch, you will be entered into the preliminary rounds, in which there are forty-eight spots open. However, there are only twelve slots for the main competition itself, so just because you make it to the preliminary rounds, does not guarantee you a spot in the competition. Now, to set the general score for us to go by, the currently reigning champion, Hercule Satan."

As if I had teleported to another place, from where reserved fighters meditated and quietly warmed up, to a roaring crowd of apparent fans and admirers.

"Here we go," I heard Krillin grumble. I glanced at Gohan, who simply half-shrugged with an uncaring twitch of the brow. Returning to watch the threshold of the hallway, I waited for the notorious Hercule Satan to emerge.

He didn't make his entrance casually. As soon as he was in sight, he hoisted his champion's belt above his head with two hands, roaring a victorious battle cry to match the deafening cheers of his fans.

So this was "the man who saved the world". He was taller than I remembered from the video, and though his chiseled build and sharp mustache gave him an intimidating look, it pretty much ended with his outrageously outplaced afro. His gi was dark brown and white, with an overly dramatic, collared white cape fell from his shoulders. Beside him, I could see a much smaller figure; a young girl in a tank top and spandex shorts. She had the same blue eyes and black hair, up in pigtails.

"Is that his daughter?" I asked Gohan. I didn't need to point.

"Yes. That's Videl Satan."

"What's she like?" I hadn't heard much of her, other than how she was definitely her father's daughter in the area of being a successful martial artist.

Gohan had a tentative look on his face. "I've only interacted with her a few brief times, but from what I've been able to gather, she's pretty tough, takes her father's name very seriously, expects everyone else to take it seriously, and is quite dictatorial, to put it lightly."

"How so?"

"Well, she just expects everyone to heed to every word she and her father say as if they're the royalty of the world. Can't entirely blame her, though… It's just how he raised her, I guess." I could see it made him uncomfortable to talk unflatteringly of someone, especially when that someone is only half responsible for being the way they were.

Hercule blabbered a few more boisterous remarks, then took his stance and delivered the first blow to the punching machine. His score came through as one-hundred-and-thirty-seven; Videl's was ninety-three. Everyone oohed and aahed over the numbers. I glanced at Gohan, who gave another shrug. "Impressive for a human," he told me. "When you go up there, though, try to use as gentle of force as possible. Only tap the surface of the pad with your knuckles."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Trust me," he insisted.

The wait was long and tedious. So far, the scores ranged in the eighty to one-hundred range. I wondered how much Gohan or Goku's scores would be…

When I became thirsty, I excused myself quickly to the nearest drinking fountain, which, thankfully, was just off to the side of the arena. _I knew I should have brought a water bottle along._

"You're new."

Videl Satan stood in front of me, watching me with demandingly curious eyes. She definitely gave off that entitled, must-know-everything vibe. If she didn't carry a skeptical frown on her face she'd be quite pretty. Then again, I've heard people tell me the same thing.

"Yeah, this is my first time competing," I answered indifferently.

"I saw you were hanging out with Goku Son and his gang," Videl mentioned, crossing her arms. "What relation are they to you?"

"Goku and Gohan Son are my trainers."

One of her sharply angled brows shot up in disbelief. "That's too bad. They're just a bunch of tricksters, you know. They don't take martial arts seriously or abide by the traditional martial arts code."

_You better watch your mouth. _Outwardly, I kept up an interested appearance, while my temper was brewing beneath the mask.

"No up and coming martial artist should go putting their career in the hands of the wrong crowd. Tell you what, you should join my dad's dojo. It's one of the most awarded, successful dojos in the nation." Both brows raised, she waited for my answer. "What do you say?"

I took a deep breath to calm the profanities that wanted spew out of my mouth, and instead, replaced them with these, "I think I'm perfectly capable of telling which crowd is 'wrong' for me by myself, thanks." My tone was neutral, but my words were enough to get my "piss off" point across.

Glaring at me, Videl huffed. "Suit yourself." She strutted off, disappearing somewhere I didn't bother noticing, and I rejoined Gohan and my new group of buddies to wait for my turn.

It came soon enough. Of course, the overseer mispronounced my name, but I didn't bother correcting him once I had mustered the nerve to step forward. I remembered what Gohan had said, to use as gentle of force as possible. _Doesn't he know by now he's talking about the wrong girl? I don't do 'gentle'._

Taking a deep breath, I stood before the machine, shifting into my proper stance, which still felt awkward given that I had to hold back. I gave my "gentle" punch, which was the equivalent of a half-hearted human jab. Amazingly, the thick-skinned pad still reacted, and the counter bleeped with calculating numbers.

My stomach dropped when the numbers stopped.

"Two-hundred-and-twenty-six?!" The overseer's face, as with all the others, gawped at the numbers in disbelief. I glanced back at Gohan worriedly, who was smiling empathetically.

"S-sorry, miss, but please try again," the man encouraged me. How could I lessen the force of my punches any more than that?

This time, I only let my knuckles touch the pad in a quick, feather-light jab. The machine still registered it. "One-hundred-and-seventy…?" I quietly groaned, watching the baffled man gawk at the number, and looking at his chart. "W-well…I suppose you're in, my dear."

Bowing my head, I kept my eyes to the ground as I walked back for Gohan, seeking shelter behind him from the shocked eyes of everyone around us. Goku patted my shoulder.

My embarrassment didn't last long. Gohan's score was one-ninety-two, Goku's was one-seventy, Krillin was one-oh-seven, and Piccolo's was one-eighty, which surprised me, but after looking at him, he didn't seem to express as great as concern in restraint.

When Vegeta's turn came, he looked at the machine as if it was a fly on the wall. He drew his arm back, and an alarm went off in my head. _That doesn't look like he intends to be 'subtle'… _

His fist bolted forward, hitting the machine with bone-crushing force and sending it careening in mangled pieces toward the wall across the arena. My hands flew to my open mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Oh, good grief," Gohan grumbled, rolling his eyes. Goku just gawped at the damage Vegeta had caused, furrowing his brows in disapproval. The faces of the tournament staff were priceless.

As it would turn out, the staff announced they would bring out the spare machine so each fighter had their chance in qualifying. It took another hour to finish the entire process. As soon as the crowd was down to forty-eight, no time was wasted; we were all led through a threshold off of the arena and into an enclosed stadium, with three miniature fighting platforms.

The blonde man that talked with Goku earlier had shown himself, from wherever he disappeared to during qualifying. He stood in front of an electric board that illustrated some sort of counter organization system.

"All right, everybody, now the preliminaries begin! You will be randomly paired with an opponent for two rounds, until only twelve of you remain for the competition." From there, he proceeded to lay out the rules: if you gave up or fell outside of the fighting platform, you lost; no killing allowed, and if you were to kill your opponent, you're automatically disqualified; any cheating, foul play, or weapons also resulted in immediate termination from the competition.

My name was the first drawn; I didn't hear my opponent's name. All I could hear was the thrumming pulse of my racing heart, echoing in my ear canals. Gohan gave me an assuring pat on the shoulder as I walked toward the arena, hastily climbing the few steps. Being elevated a couple feet off the ground, I definitely felt on the spot.

My opponent took the stairs in one swift step; he was a huge behemoth, over seven feet tall, with greasy brown hair and bulging muscles. His green eyes picked my apart.

He snorted. "Really? You're letting children participate in the competition? No wonder the reputation of this tournament's going down the toilet," he spat, unimpressed.

I raised a brow, my timidity sinking away the more he opened his mouth.

"Why don't you just go home and play with your Barbie dolls, little girl?" he chuckled. "Well, go on." He waved a hand toward the exit, honestly expecting me to take this chance to forfeit. His amusement faded when I persisted to stand my ground and glare at him.

"Suit yourself." Lunging for me, his long arms reached out, but in a swift breath, I had ducked under him and sent my fist into the vulnerable flesh of his abdomen. I could hear the air leave his lungs in a sharp wheeze. I let myself fall back, using my hands to brace myself as my legs flung out and kicked at his ankles, knocking him off his weary foundation and sending him flying for the floor. He was too busy clutching his stomach and struggling to regulate his breathing to get back up.

As if it was the fastest prelim round any of them had ever seen, the tournament officials gawked at me and my fallen opponent. "U-uh, Jordane, you go through!" the blonde announcer declared. Without a word, I left the platform and returned to my place beside Gohan. One side of his mouth was pulled up in a perky smirk.

"How'd that feel?" he asked.

I exhaled, but unlike the air leaving my lungs, adrenaline only intensified in my veins. "It felt good," I answered, smiling.

As the preliminaries continued, I was actually disappointed. All of my new friends barreled through their opponents like it was all just a walk in the park; I wanted to see Gohan fight someone, to see more of what I knew he did flawlessly, but he finished his opponent in one strike of the leg.

The second round cycled quickly, and yet even with fighters who made it through the first round, it meant nothing when paired against Gohan or any of the others. Hopefully the actual competition would be more entertaining than this.

I was up last, and I was pumped to move on to the finals. Then I heard the name of my opponent. Videl Satan.

She glared at me from the other side of the platform, and I couldn't entirely say I wasn't giving her something of a similar look. When the gong sounded, I was surprised when she charged at me first. Her blows were sharp and precise, but none of them hit me because I blocked each one.

When I saw an opportunity, I took it, swinging my leg to hers; she hit my thigh with her knee in a block. Well, damn…she had a good eye.

Her strikes grew in aggression, and I was having troubles landing a punch on her. Her fist blindsided me and grazed my jaw before I had the time to react. As if a bomb had gone off, my willingness for restraint snapped and I repaid her blow with a bolting jab of my own, right to her chest. Rather than sending her to the floor, it tossed her backward, flying past the boundary of the platform. She landed on the grassy ground below with a harsh _thud_.

The whole room, which had been filled with the melodious buzz of chatter, fell dead silent. Every fighter stood wide-eyed and mouth ajar at the fact Videl Satan had just been knocked out of bounds—and for the first time in her career, wouldn't be advancing past preliminaries.

When I heard her coughing a hoarse, dry heave, I walked closer to the edge of the ring; she was stiffly attempting to pull herself up, but her body was still too stunted from the force of my punch, and her landing. I could see it in just the furrowing of her brows that this loss was devastating. To my own amazement, I actually felt a little sorry for her.

I hopped off the platform and knelt down to her, offering my hand. When she noticed me, her eyes widened with an indignant severity, as if insulted that I was presenting to help her. In a blink, she forced herself up, deliberately hitting my hand with a brunt shove of her shoulder. She limped away, shunning away any offered aid by tournament staff. I wasn't appalled she refused my assistance; I really didn't expect her to take it to begin with—hell, I wouldn't have, if the situations were reversed—but I felt it was only proper showmanship to do so.

What started out as forty-eight contestants wound down to twelve, and the sky had turned orange with the evening sun. It didn't feel as though the preliminaries took all afternoon. The competition wouldn't be resuming until tomorrow morning, so we were released to do whatever we desired for the remainder of the night.

When Gohan and I emerged from the hall leading to the warm-up arena, we didn't catch the small cluster of reporters and cameramen flocking just over in the corner. As soon as we were in view, women and men reporters alike hurried over, their cameramen just hovering above their shoulders, taking video and snapping photos. I stumbled and squished myself into Gohan's side because they all just kept encroaching closer, sticking their microphones in both our faces.

"Son Gohan, are you or your father going to go for the championship this year?"

"Who is this new member of your group? Will she be competing? Where did you meet her?"

"Are you dating, Gohan?"

"Are you two dating?"

They were sure to get to Goku as well, and I could hear them, "Goku, what are your thoughts on this year's competition?"

Unlike Gohan and I, Goku answered; but not because he cared about maintaining a public image, but just because he was that carefree about the whole situation.

"It's a little early to tell what the competition is, I think," he answered chirpily.

"Who is the new girl?"

"Oh, Jordane! She's our pupil."

The clamoring intensified,

"Since when have you been taking pupils?"

"Do you and your son have some sort of special relationship with her?"

"Does this mean your son is officially off the market?"

"Uuh…why would he be in a market? He's not a food…" With Goku's clueless answer, the questions returned to us.

"Gohan! Gohan! Does this mean you're no longer an eligible bachelor?"

"Miss Jordane, how would you describe Gohan as a boyfriend? Is he romantic? Is he a good kisser? What is your idea of the perfect date?" I resisted the urge to flip them all off and just kept pace with Gohan as we surged through the bundle of reporters to the point it was getting difficult for them to keep up with us. "Is he good in bed?!" a female reporter hopelessly called as she fell behind, reaching her arm out as far as she could until we were out of her range.

"Holy crap," I hissed.

"Yep," Gohan sighed.

"Gohan, why would the reporters say you're in a market?" Goku popped up, his brows furrowed in confusion. I giggled. The man was so wise and seasoned in the area of martial arts, I so often forgot he was rather naïve when it came to societal matters.

"It's just an expression, Dad."

"Oh."

Even with the hovering press and media reporters, that didn't stop us from booking a reservation at a buffet restaurant on the tournament grounds for a big dinner. I was relieved to find out later that the restaurant was for competitors only; no public or press allowed.

The hosts had to combine a fair few tables in order for us to all sit together. Everyone else ordered small individual meals; Goku ordered the bottomless buffet for Gohan, Vegeta, and myself.

The food was absolutely freaking delicious. I couldn't help but take large mouthfuls because I was so hungry and it tasted so good. And there was a slew of varieties to choose from…

"Holy moley…," Krillin uttered, and I looked up from my plate to find him gawking at me and my fellow Saiyans, who all sat on one end of the table. He wasn't the only one. Even my friends stared wide-eyed at the spread of food I was hastily consuming.

"Jordane, you're definitely a Saiyan… I've never seen anyone that can eat as much as Goku or Gohan," Krillin chuckled awkwardly.

"Yeah, seriously, dude, your appetite's jacked up," Ashlyn said. I shrugged, chewing my food and swallowing.

"It's the training. The harder the workout, the more energy I use up, the more calories I need to eat." I could only imagine what my mother's face would look like if she was sitting at the table…

The girls were pretty jet-lagged, and especially after a satisfying dinner, none of them were up for exploring the island or doing anything much. That's all right. We'd have plenty of time of the next couple of days to mess around.

By nightfall, we'd all turned in to our hotel rooms to get the rest needed for the eventful days ahead. Gohan and I watched a comedy movie for a couple hours until sleep finally held sway. I opened our window, so I could hear the drowning roar of the vast ocean waves. As I lay in bed, I was facing Gohan, and he was facing me from across the two-foot gap between our beds. I wanted that gap to be gone.

"So, how does this whole thing work, then? I mean, at some point in the competition, you're going to be paired against your dad, or your dad will be paired with Vegeta, so on… Who wins?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Gohan smirked. "As for me and my dad, we rock-paper-scissors who will win the fight; we don't go all-out in public competitions. It draws too much attention. As for Vegeta…this is actually his first tournament. It would be his dream come true if he and my dad could fight; that way there'd be an audience to witness him beat my father." When I raised a brow, he elaborated further, "Well, remember I mentioned Vegeta used to be one of the bad guys? He may not be evil and go around killing people anymore, but one thing he's never been able to let go of is this competitive drive against my father. Being a prince, I suppose he always felt as if he was made of greatness and would achieve greatness; which he has, don't get me wrong, but my father was the one that always achieved that greatness first. And it only pissed Vegeta off to the point he'd drive himself mad across the galaxy searching for answers and ways to surpass my father."

"Did he ever surpass your dad? Even just briefly?"

"Briefly, I suppose he did. But Dad being Dad, he trained and challenged himself until he surpassed Vegeta again. So it was a short-lived victory for him."

I thought back to when Gohan and I encountered Vegeta back in the halls of Capsule Corporation, how he scowled at Gohan as if he held a similar loathing envy toward him as he did Goku. "Does Vegeta not like you because you're his rival's son?"

Gohan shrugged. "Vegeta and I have had our run-ins with each other; many of them not so pleasant, but then again, there was a time or two we'd have to team up in order to survive. I really don't think he ever saw me as a threat or something to take seriously until the Cell Games, when I ascended to the very level he'd worked his whole life to attain, yet it took me a little less than a decade to gain it in a snap."

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"Ascending to a power no one else was able to reach." My mind ventured back to the footage I saw of the Cell Games, of Gohan losing himself in a guttural scream, blinded with light and dust, the mere energy he was releasing affecting the earth around him.

He shifted onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling thoughtfully. I quietly watched the shadows and moonlight played on the features of his face. He made many attempts to speak, but he lost his words every time, before finally admitting, "There's no way to describe it. I… I felt as if my whole body was going to combust. So much energy was coursing through me, it was painful—physically painful. But it's a maddening pain that is buried beneath your skin, from the depths of your core. As for the mental part of it…" He paused, and I caught a sad, critical furrow in his brow. "That kind of power…it takes over you. It gets into your head and consumes you. Being an unprepared kid didn't help the whole situation." His jaw tensed.

"I thought your dad trained you for the Cell Games?" I asked gently.

"He did, but he never told me I was his secret weapon. I thought saving the world was going to be his job, as it always had been. Instead it ended up falling on my shoulders. That level of ascension he and Vegeta and Trunks had strived to reach—but couldn't—was inside me. At first, I don't think my dad had all intentions of training me to be the conqueror of the Cell Games. But when I ascended while we were training, he had a whole plan cooked up—one that he kept hidden from me and everybody else."

"You ascended when you were training and didn't think you'd be able to fight Cell?"

"I don't remember it," he said. "I just remember being so mentally and physically exhausted; when my dad knocked me down, it was like my consciousness slipped away, and something else—something primal—took over. Next thing I remember, I woke up in bed, but my dad acted strange from that point on; saying that Cell was far stronger than him, and yet being so confident that we'd be able to defeat him… It was a strange kind of confidence, even from him. You can imagine my shock when my father—the man who would just as soon die than forfeit any battle—gave up against Cell, only to announce there was someone even stronger for him to fight. Imagine my disbelief when he called my name.

"I went ahead and fought Cell because I wanted to make my father proud; he had faith in me, so I knew I had to have faith in myself, even though deep in my heart, I doubted I could actually finish the job. I figured it out soon enough, though, what my father was trying to do, pinning me against Cell when he was in fact stronger than me at that point in time. He knew Cell would push and shove me into a corner, and like a cornered dog, I would resort to instinct—my Saiyan instincts—and bite back. He knew—I knew—that if my hidden powers were provoked, there'd be no stopping them that time. There'd be no expiration, like in all the episodes in the past. I was scared; scared that if my powers were fully unleashed, they would change me, that they'd make me into a killer." His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "And they did."

"I find that hard to believe," I whispered carefully. I knew he did what he had to do, but I couldn't imagine him being turned into a killer by something in his own mind.

"Believe it, because it did. Every Saiyan impulse, every Saiyan instinct—to maim, to kill—every little savage trait that I've kept mollified all my life just came flooding to the surface. All those traits became a permanent part of who I am, and I fight them every day."

For a few moments, I didn't know how to respond. I'd always seen him as a person of strict control; to imagine him out of his own control was incomprehensible.

"So…it's like a Jekyll and Hyde sort of thing?"

Finally, he let his head tilt back in my direction. "Yeah, it's pretty much like that."

"I don't want to sound insensitive, but what is it about the Cell Games that you don't want to talk about with people—even me or Renea or Vince?"

He closed his eyes, inhaling another breath. "Defeating Cell may have been my greatest accomplishment as a warrior, but I also had my fair share of low moments—moments I'd prefer to keep hidden from people that I care about." A certain expression must have shown in my eyes, because he then added, "They're my demons to worry about, not yours."

"Everybody needs a little help exorcizing their demons," I said. He smiled.

"Well, whenever I'm ready for an exorcizing, you'll be the one I call. Be sure to bring plenty of holy water, though."

Snickering, I shook my head. He was so damn stubborn, but I knew all I could do was wait until he was ready. _You could be waiting a long time, _a little voice said. Looking at him as he began to drift to sleep, I smiled.

_It'll be worth the wait. _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ….I am so, so, SO sorry for the long absence. I was just going to take a hiatus until after the holidays, but I became very busy with the upcoming year with personal matters. You'd think having taken all this time off, I would have written up a ton of chapters, yeah? Yearrr no... :/ Hope these 2 new chapters make up for it!  
><strong>

**In closing, I'd just like to thank my readers again so much. When I'm having a dry spell/block, I always come back here and re-read your guys' reviews, and it gives me a little extra _umph_ whenever I need it. To know even just a handful of people are reading and enjoying my fanfic, it's very humbling and amazing to me, so THANK YOU. **

**-J **

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	34. 33: Let's Get Lost

**33. Let's Get Lost**

**_Gohan_**

For the main competition, contestants drew numbers from a box, and were paired with their opponent for the said round. The drawing took place just before noon, so everyone was awake, hydrated, and focused on the first day of competition.

With only twelve fighters, the whole affair was quick; none of us were paired with any in our group—with the exception of Krillin being paired with Piccolo, much to my amusement, for the first match. Vegeta was disappointed when he didn't get paired with my father. Oh well; there were plenty of chances for him to have his match with Dad.

Jordane was matched up against a random kid, a year or so older than us; Jonas Kihn. I'd heard of him. He was a top student from one of Hercule's dojos, and real popular with the girls for his blonde-hair, blue-eyed pretty-boy looks. He smiled a little too friendly when he saw Jordane would be his opponent, although she paid no attention. I glared in his direction as he still took long glances at her after her back was turned. When he finally went on his business, I relaxed and ignored him, and then I saw my father glancing at me with a smirk. The gesture was brief, but made the point that he saw me get my tail in a knot over a guy checking my friend out.

From the gathering platform, all the fighters moved into the spacious fighter's lounge, and just outside the threshold was the massive arena. The muffled clamor of the colossal audience was so strident, it almost drowned out the soft classical music that played from the mounted speakers in the ceiling of the lounge.

Jeff executed his job as the announcer in getting the audience jacked up for the first round. Of course, Hercule wouldn't show his face until the final match with the last remaining fighter.

Piccolo and Krillin's match was short-lived. When it came down to the two of them, Piccolo was indisputably the most powerful. He let Krillin get a few hits in before finally serving him a kick just strong enough to send him flying out of the ring; he was able to laugh it off, though, but I'm not sure he would be still once he rejoined Eighteen after the tournament. She'd been rather…enthusiastic for him to at least make it to the second round to win a small purse of winnings.

When it came down to one match before Jordane would be up, I looked away from the uninteresting fight in the arena to find her; she was still sitting in the same spot I found her three matches ago, stiffly laying against the wall, popping her knuckles and pumping her leg relentlessly, her eyes anxiously blank.

I joined her on the bench. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm good," she answered, very unconvincingly. I smiled.

"Remember what I told you. You'll do fine. You'll kick some serious tail and the crowd will love you."

She nodded, but my words didn't ease her tenseness yet. "I better use the bathroom before the match…," she absently mumbled, standing up and walking for the restrooms just outside of the lounge. Walking around would do her some good.

Someone cat-called softly; I immediately cringed when Jonas Kihn strolled up to me, grinning at me, and looking back at where Jordane walked off to. "Man, sorry for being forward, but your sister is cute. What's her name?"

I didn't move even my brows, afraid if I even had the will to exert any energy in facial expression, I'd just transfer that energy to my fists. "She's not my sister," I answered flatly, glaring up at him.

One of his brows furrowed, and he glanced back at me, flummoxed. "Cousin, then?"

Before I could answer, Jordane had returned, and just in time, for the match had ended; she and Jonas were up next. I stood up and met her at the large canvas that stood in the middle of the threshold, dividing it into two walkways.

"You'll be fine," I reminded her. She was stretching and moving her shoulders in attempts to loosen up.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, onto the fifth match of the day; champion student from the Hercule Satan Dojo of West City, Jonas Kihn, against newcomer Jordane Teague!"

Inhaling deeply, she marched herself forward, emerging into the view of the thousands of people in the rectangular coliseum of an arena. For whatever reason, Jonas intended on exiting from the same side of the canvas; Krillin and Dad were already occupying the other side, and I all too deliberately blocked his only way out to the arena. Standing next to him, I had a good foot of height on him.

"Um, excuse me," he said, waiting for me to move. When it was clear I wouldn't be, he made an attempt to squeeze through the miniscule space I'd left. His lanky frame could fit well enough, but I made sure to prop my foot in his path, so he was sent stumbling ungracefully out to the arena in front of all his adoring fans.

Once out in the arena with Jordane, he continued his attempts to charm her—and failed, especially once he treaded into the "I'll go easy on you, because I'm a gentleman and gentlemen don't hurt ladies" territory. He even gave her a chance to forfeit after displaying how sharp and quick his movements were in open air. I let out a throaty snigger as Jordane just stood there watching him with a totally unimpressed glare.

She broke her one rule and made the first move, catching Jonas off-guard; all it took was one jab from her hand to his chin, and he fell to the arena floor, out cold. I could hear a small cluster of excited screaming, and sure enough, I saw Jordane's friends, including the girls from our pack, cheering together, holding up the little sign they made. All other girls in the stadium—fans of Jonas—only gawped with mouths ajar and eyes wide in disbelief.

"Thatta girl," Dad laughed, giving Jordane a high-five once she rejoined us in the lounge.

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much," I said to her, smirking.

"Maybe I am," she retorted wittily, grinning at me.

I was matched up against a tall, broad-shouldered man; he looked to be my father's age, a rather seasoned fighter. He offered a good fight, but rather than knock him out cold, I simply drove him closer to the edge of the ring and, giving a shove, planted him on the ground out of bounds. As soon as I did that, the crowd—particularly my female "fanbase"—roared in applause; any and all photographers and media reporters snapped away with their cameras and rambled into their microphones.

"Well, you really are popular here," Jordane greeted me as I returned to the lounge. She raised both brows as she scanned the crowd. "Is that girl holding a 'Marry Me' sign?"

I could still hear that girl's indignant implorations even from the lounge. "Yeah," I sighed in stunted amusement. Rolling her eyes, Jordane scoffed.

The remaining matches in the first round carried along in a monotonous lapse of time, until the roster was only down to eight fighters. What Jeff did to close the night was rather diverting; he'd addressed what he was sure was on many fans' minds, which was, why Videl Satan wasn't in the finals.

His explanation—or rather, Hercule's explanation? Videl had come down with a violent stomach bug that rendered her unable to compete; in fact, it was Hercule who insisted that she withdraw from the competition for the sake of her health, whereas she still wanted to participate. Jordane simply looked at me in bewilderment. Of course, both of us knew the cover story wasn't the case, but it was still baffling just how thick Hercule and his daughter laid it on.

"I hope y'all brought your swimsuits, cuz we're gonna get wet!" Elliot hollered, carrying a cheering Jasmine on his shoulders ahead of the rest of us. Dad and the others lingered in the fighter's training lounge to spar, while my pack and Jordane's friends from Washington all herded for the carnival by the coast. There was a new air; my pack and I were intermingling with humans—teenagers—the sort of people we shunned from daily… It was a refreshing spin from the norm, and in spite of some of the girls' insatiable curiosity regarding werewolf lifestyle as a pack, it felt as though they were just a part of our little posse.

It was blatant that they loved Jordane, and she loved them; however when her true nature came unraveled to them, it only worked in her favor, for she had not just their acceptance and fondness, but their loyalty.

To bring Jordane and her friends back together, even for just a few days, brought me a new essence of contentment.

* * *

><p>The amusement park was still as massive as I remembered it. Feverish humidity still held the island in a firm grasp, so we immediately booked it for the water park. Once inside the expansive dome, the misty air ponged of chlorine, salt, and various perfumes from soaps.<p>

The massive water slides were our first destination; fourteen stories of rushing water down a half-cut tube that inclined upward at the end. That brief moment of weightlessness as you're launched out of the slide forty feet above the water was mere child's play for me, but I could tell for Jordane, who never really dared to try such things before now, it was a spectacular rush of adrenaline. She seemed to be drawn to the promise of such sensations these days.

Her human friends shrieked and screamed on the way down; Sara and Ashlyn were the only ones brazen enough to go down on their own. Amanda and Cristine both waited until Jordane was free to join them.

Since there was a mounted camera adjacent to the slide, which snapped pictures as soon as people came rushing off the slide and into midair above the pool, I conspired with Jordane to go down the slide and strike a pose in midair. As to which poses those would be, we didn't know; we just glided down and launched ourselves into the air, improvising in a snap-second. When we resurfaced, she was laughing with overzealous joy. I couldn't resist but to give in to my own desire to laugh with her, my eyes lingering on her for longer than they should have.

The picture, for lack of better term, was epic, if I say so myself; we both had our legs and arms outstretched in fighting poses, making ridiculous faces. She tucked it safely in her dry shorts' pockets in the locker-room.

Before we moved on to our next activity, I was sent to get assorted drinks in our down time. While I waited for the guy at the concession stand to get our Slushees, Amanda came up, ordering her own drink. I'd already asked everyone for their drink order before I left, and she was one of the few who remained silent. She was an odd one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking my naked torso over; I had the feeling, however, she wasn't looking at my body, but rather the scars that beset it. When our eyes met, her eyes veered away flutteringly, similarly to how Jordane's would, but with a different awkwardness.

"So…," she finally spoke, her delicate voice still breathy, but firm in motive. "You're a Saiyan."

"Yes, I am," I nodded, glancing at her respectfully. I nodded once again when she made another inquiry about my wolfen bloodline.

"Where'd you get all those? That is, if you don't mind my asking…" She didn't have to be specific.

"I got them by battling with very powerful beings…as well as just getting in scuffles with other werewolves."

There was a disapproving pucker in her brows and mouth. "So, you're like Jordane, then; you like to go out and get in fights?"

It felt an awful lot as though her approval of me weighed heavily on my answer to this question. Even so, I would have answered just as honestly. "I don't go looking for fights, and I don't entirely like it when they do find me, but I can't really say that I avoid them entirely." I paused thoughtfully. "Exactly how much has Jordane told you about me?"

Shrugging, Amanda glanced down at the ground, as if she couldn't make eye contact with someone for more than a few seconds. "Not a lot; just that in being part Saiyan, you have a more of an 'action-packed' lifestyle than she does, 'cuz you go around saving the world and stuff." She was very difficult to decode; I couldn't decide if I was getting warmer toward meriting her approval, or if she still had concerns.

"Why are you training Jordane? For this tournament, I mean?" she finally asked, the criticism apparent in her eyes.

"I've just been teaching her how to control her abilities. As for the whole tournament thing…I thought it would be a good test for her, and sort of an outlet."

"I only ask because…well, fighting is kind of an unhealthy obsession with her."

"It comes with the Saiyan genes. Coupled with _loup-garou_ drive, it only intensifies."

"Well, I wish it wasn't intense," she said. "Jordane, she does a lot of good things; she loves a lot of things and is good at a lot of other things besides fighting."

"I know," I added somberly.

"I just wish those things were enough for her to just let go of fighting completely. I mean, before she moved here, she tore up a girl in our class—right in front of everyone! I didn't like the girl, either, cuz she neglected and abused her horses and was a moron, but Jordane could have killed her…I think a part of her wanted to." She shook her head, keeping her eyes to the ground. "I know she stands up for me and our friends a lot when we need it, but not everything has to be settled with violence, like she feels it has to."

This was the first reminder of the fun-filled night that Amanda was human; there were fragments of Jordane's being that she wasn't capable of understanding, even if I was able to explain it to her form an insider's perspective. A part of me knew I couldn't blame her for saying these things. She was Jordane's best friend, who had known her for far longer than I, and was simply looking out for her well-being—something I could admire and concur with.

I yearned to tell her Jordane would grow out of her militant frame of mind, but there was absolutely no guarantee. "Well…she'll be fine. With her being in control of her powers, it shouldn't be so bad."

Amanda kept eyeing me, even as she was handed her drink. "Do you care about her?"

My repetitive finger-tapping stopped. I had to answer this question carefully. "I care about her enough to not steer her in the wrong direction, if that's what you're asking."

She hesitated in answering, but slowly nodded. "Yeah. Well, good. I'd hate to have a reason to dislike you, because Jordane really likes you. A lot."

I swallowed, taking the drink-carrier that secured everybody's drinks; I began walking. "We're both pretty fond of each other," I carefully admitted. "We share something very…personal."

She only nodded, bringing our conversation to an end. I couldn't shake off the impending edginess, as if I'd said something that could be misconstrued, or just relayed as the bare truth it was, and land me in a tricky situation.

Paintball was next. There was no gear to put on; we just grabbed the narrow little water guns and went at it. Of course, the guns didn't pack near the bite traditional paintball guns would; even if they did, they wouldn't hurt me or my pack members any.

We divided into two teams; Jordane, Amanda, Vince, Ashlyn, and Renea were on my team. The others had the guys to their advantage, but I had Jordane as my advantage. I remembered her saying she'd been to the gun range with her uncles and cousin, but as to what extent, I could only assume was intense, for she moved like a soldier throughout this little drill. Her movements and maneuvers were quick, stealthy, and she had a sort of sixth sense as to when and where to shoot from behind a barricade.

At some point during the game, the opposite team gained an upper hand and wound up driving what was left of my team apart. Jordane and I hightailed it to one of the water tunnels, and I quickly pulled her through a hidden passageway cloaked by cascading water. The silly rush of the chase had us both laughing and in a hurry to get as out of sight as possible, so we pushed and squished into the very back corner of the nook. It wasn't until the high ended that I realized just how close we were—I felt it before I even saw with my eyes; her arm brushed against my waist and hips, her chest pressed into mine.

_Well done. _

Swallowing, I mustered the will to look her in the eye, and she smiled timidly. Clearing her throat, she at least made an attempt to create a barrier of space between us, stopping just as soon as a shape flew past the wall of water in front of us. Six inches between us…it should have been better than nothing, but still felt way too close.

"This place is fun as hell," she breathily giggled, breaking the tension.

"The more people you have, the more fun you get," I agreed, watching the entrance as an occasional figure would pass by.

We couldn't sit there forever, as much as a part of me wished we could. I covered Jordane as she crouched along the imitated rocks along the area, scouting for the positions of Elliot's team. She took out Ian and Jazz easily. Jade was my target. Jordane's human friends were all out of the game, and soon, it was just me, her, and Elliot.

I heard a disturbance in the constant flow of water, so I immediately shifted just in time to find Elliot aiming his gun for me. I apparated to dodge it, and caught him off-guard when I reappeared in his blind spot, tagging him, and winning the game. Arms wide, he gaped at me in disbelief.

"Dude! You're not supposed to use your powers, that's always been a rule!"

Grinning, I shrugged. "Old habits die hard." Something stung my abs, and I recoiled with a yelp out of reflex. When I looked to see who could have possibly shot me, my jaw dropped to see Jordane.

"What—?"

"We figured it was about damn time you lost at something," Elliot sniggered. "Jordane was the only one you wouldn't see coming, and she thought it would be fun, so…" He patted me on the back, laughing.

"No hard feelings, eh?" Jordane snickered, poking my abs with the barrel of her gun.

"You traitor," I growled, exaggerating my glare. When she grinned, my dramatics crumbled apart. "I'll get you back for that, one day," I promised with a smirk.

We lingered in the water park well into the night, but still left all too enthusiastically for the carnival when we'd had our fill of water games. The ocean's air currents brought in pure, crisp air to counter the miniscule stench of the small towns on the island; with the breeze came refreshingly cool, comfortable temperatures that made hanging in damp shorts, shirts, and wet hair a cinch. Jordane wore her camouflage denim shorts and a shrug sweater over her bikini. I gazed at her exposed shoulder like a moron whenever the baggy sweater would favor one side over the other. She'd become more open to any clothing suggestions Renea had to offer her, and though she looked good in something new, a part of me wished she would stop finding more ways to look bafflingly charming.

I remembered the first time she and I went at the carnival together in town, how reluctant and scared stiff she was of any ride that took off more than ten feet in the air. I could tell her friends were surprised, as well, for she joined them on rides that sent them launching dozens of feet up, tossing them this way, turning them upside down; a surplus dose of adrenaline, one ride after another, and she had a huge grin on her face through each one.

At one point, I quietly slipped away to a small concession stand, browsing to see if perhaps there was something there Jordane would like. I wanted to get her something, even a silly little thing, just as a small congratulatory trinket for having come so far. Because truly, she had; she'd grown so much from the first time I met her. I was proud of her.

Most of the items in the stand were cheap arcade prizes; I looked at their small selection of hand-made necklaces, and was drawn to one. A dark marble-textured stone etched and carved in the shape of flames, latched onto a simple black string. The flame immediately reminded me of her insatiable spirit, the lovely spark I saw in her eyes when something roused her to life.

Before I finished the transaction, my eye was also drawn to a cluster of roses; they were all of assorted colors, such as red, white, black, yellow, and pink. I had to stop myself when I realized I was reaching for a red one. _Too much_, I considered, grabbing a white rose instead.

As I walked back for the ride I last left them, I carefully wrapped the necklace around the stem of the rose, managing to arrange it rather elegantly. My heart fluttered faster with each step I took, closer to where I could see Jordane sitting on a bench. No one else was with her.

"Where is everybody?" I asked, keeping the rose by my side, hidden from her view as I sat beside her.

"They're on that," she said, pointing to a roller coaster with an array of loops and curves. "I passed it up. I think I've had my fill of stomach-dropping carnival rides for one night." Well, then I had perfect timing.

"I, uh, got something for you." My remark was hardly articulate or graceful; I scratched my neck behind my ear. When she inclined her head to face me, her smile was curiously flustered. I figured that was my cue as any; I brought my left hand from behind my leg, and presented the rose and necklace to her, glancing up from my tilted eyes to gauge her expression. Astonishment—of the pleasant kind.

She carefully took the rose from my hand, and my heart skipped when our fingers briefly touched. I shook it off and proceeded to explain my spontaneous gift. "It's just, ah, a kind of congratulatory trinket for completing your training and for improving so much; and for getting past the first round of the tournament with flying colors, too."

Her smile grew. "So, what, did the necklace come with the rose?"

"Yeah," I blurted.

She brought the mid-bloomed rose to her nose and inhaled softly, her lips still pulled up. "Roses are my favorite flower, you know."

"I have good instincts, then."

"They're pretty good, yeah," she agreed, snickering. "Actually, I'd say your instincts are spot-on, since you brought my friends halfway across the world so they could see me compete." Her eyes peeked up from underneath her lashes, her smile softening, but still very present. "Thank you, for bringing them here. It really means a lot."

Glancing at my folded hands, I actually struggled not to smile too widely. "I know you've missed them. I figured bringing them here so you could see them, even for a few days, would make this experience meaningful for you."

"It was already meaningful," she said sheepishly, keeping the rose by her mouth. "But…this made it extra-special. Thank you."

She had me; I was snared by the draw of her lovely, appreciative stare, and the delicate curve of her smile. "You're welcome." Off in the distance, I heard the roller coaster slow to an end, followed by the exhilarated cheers of our friends. I was glad I didn't break the trance Jordane and I shared, for then I couldn't have seen her quickly lean close and press her lips to my cheek. So fleeting, so subtle, yet it consumed me with a dazing shiver of delight.

I gazed at her with the trace of a parted smile, but she didn't stay there long; she rose to meet everybody and rejoin her little group. I stared after her even once I had risen to my feet, my mind slowing down rather than racing forward, for a change

"I saw that," Vince murmured in my ear, popping up beside me. I glanced his way, and he winked; he didn't need to explain what he meant, but I wasn't at all too concerned about it, remarkably. I was in a good mood, and I wasn't about to let anything put a damper on it.

By the time we all returned to our hotel, the late night hours had snuck up on us. I was light-years away from being tired; the last thing I wanted to do was sleep.

When I exited from the bathroom after my shower, I was puzzled by the emptiness of the room. Then I noticed the window was wide open rather than just a crack. Peeking out the window, I found Jordane sitting amongst the stone and rock platform that lay sprawled across the cliff-side. The cool air hit my damp hair, amplifying the chill, but it was refreshing; I crawled out from the window and made my way to her, settling down beside her. She smiled in greeting, and looked back out to the infinite ocean. The glow of the gibbous moon was the only light, but it was plenty, dusting the water's surface with diamonds. My eyes fell on a small shimmer on Jordane's neck; she was wearing her necklace.

"Enjoying the view, eh?" I asked, softly. Even over the roar of the ocean, she could hear me.

"The last time I was sitting in front of an ocean, I was ten years old. Even then, it wasn't like this, with the moon hovering right over the water on the horizon…" She tilted her head straight up. "I love looking at the stars on the ocean, though. It's all just one big, glorious canvas of brilliance."

Humming in agreement, I named each star I could find. When Jordane sighed, my awareness rerouted to her.

"It's going to be hard, going home from all this. Don't get me wrong, it'll be nice to be back home, but…this whole thing has just been so fantastic."

"It isn't over yet," I reminded her, gently bumping her with my shoulder. She smiled, but it was bittersweet; her brows furrowed pensively.

"You know what's bizarre," she said, her voice trailing softly. "I'm not missing Washington near as much as I thought I would be. With as much as I missed it at first, I would have thought I'd be going mad at this point…but I'm not in any hurry to get back to it. Isn't that weird?"

I shrugged when I couldn't provide an answer. "You've grown a lot since you left Washington."

"I know, but for my entire life up to now, I always envisioned Washington being my home—my only home. It was where I was born, and I figured that would be the place I'd settle down, have my own place, build my career, and just live my life out there… Now, I don't really know what I want—or where I want it to be."

I wasn't sure if my advice would be proper; I had my future set in stone already, in the aspect of careers and where I'd rest my head at the end of the day. "You're only sixteen," was all I could say. "You've still got plenty of time to explore the world and figure out where you want to be."

"That's the thing though; I think a part of me is scared of wanting to be someplace else other than Washington. It was my plan for so long and now a new place—and new people—are challenging that. It's kind of scary."

"Life is scary," I agreed, folding my fingers together in my lap. "It's scary to discover something new, and it's just as scary to stay in the same safe place and miss out on great opportunities."

She groaned. "Damn." When she turned to me, she flaunted a smirk. "How is it you always echo my inner thoughts?"

"Great minds think alike," I answered, grinning. The moonlight caught the twinkle in her eyes when she smiled. After a few moments of silence, I veered back toward the subject of her home back in Washington. "There has to be something about Washington you still love and miss," I egged. "It can't have completely lost its charm, especially with all the sketches I've seen in your sketchbook." Since she'd been staying with me, the number of beautifully detailed landscape portraits of the pacific northwest mounted in her sketchbooks; even if she wasn't fully aware she missed it, her subconscious certainly did.

Rather than look at me questioningly, she pondered. "My family, for one. But other small things, too… Like the colors of the leaves in the fall, just before the trees go bare; the way the sun creeps out from behind dark clouds after a downpour, how misty clouds dance across the treed hills of the Columbia River Gorge, the smell of a spring shower, and the silent wonderland that's created whenever it snows…" She closed her eyes and smiled, as if transporting herself to all of those places. "There are a lot of things I miss."

"Don't worry about where you'll spend the rest of your life just yet," I encouraged. "Don't be afraid to keep your heart and mind open. You just may decide, in another ten years from now, that Washington is truly where you want to be, after you've seen other places, met other people; or, you just may find your place somewhere else. That doesn't mean you have to leave either place—or the people in it—behind."

I recognized the uncertain expression that morphed across her face; it was faint and fleeting, just as the few other instances, but still noticeable enough. It was a torn confusion, when she wanted to trudge forward, but was held back by her tiny fears and mistrust in her judgments. There was something else, there, though; guilt, sadness?

"Gohan, I'm moving back to Washington."

It was a plain, one-dimensional statement, yet I was rendered bemused. "What?" _Well, that was quick. _

"After I get home after the tournament, my mom wants to move back to Washington," she elaborated; nothing about her conveyed joy. "She's been making more money than she thought she would with this job, so she's been saving up these last couple of months. We have enough to move home, and keep the house here, too, as a vacation house."

I should have been happy—elated—that she would be leaving back for the States. A small part of me was, I think. No, it was too small; not strong enough to overthrow the small little voice in my head that begged, _No. Please. I don't want her to go, not my Jordane, not this soon. _

Pulling myself together, I tried to find a positive note to this for her. "Well, it won't be that bad, then, I mean, if you'll come over for a visit once in a while."

"I'm scared, though."

"Why?"

"I'm scared I'll want to stay in Washington once I'm back. That I'll spend the rest of my life away from all this…away from you."

_Oh Jordane… I wish you wouldn't have said that. _To make it worse, she directed her eyes back to me, her brows etched in that saddened line toward the center of her face, her lips inclined downward.

"If I move back home…will you miss me?"

"Yes, I will." For the sake of lightening the mood, I added playfully, "Will you miss me?" _You should already know the answer to that, moron. _

Faintly scoffing, she finally smirked. "Oh hell yeah. I think I'll probably miss you most of all."

"I feel so special," I retorted humorously. The uplifting tone only carried on for a few notes before dwindling back to a somber aura. "Look," I sighed, scooting closer to her. "Whatever will happen in the future, wherever you choose to belong, have faith in yourself that it's the right choice for you. Trust me, we will find ourselves in places that feel right, even though we may be far away from the people we care for and miss most. Don't worry about disappointing people or learning to grow without them. That includes me." Our eyes were locked on one another; I wanted her to feel the weight of my words.

"I wanted to continue growing with you," she expressed, her voice strong, but her eyes poignant. "I want to grow and be just a sliver of the strong and amazing person you are; I want to go on spectacular adventures, and do great things…"

"Listen to me," I demanded, twisting my body so I was facing her. "You _will_ do great things; you don't need me around to do them. You're meant for your own greatness, and though I know you may not feel like it, but you are already a strong and amazing person in your own right. Don't ever doubt that." Without thinking, I brought my hand up to her face, brushing her windswept bangs so I could cup her cheek. "Got that?"

Without blinking, she nodded soberly, the ghost of a promising smile in the corner of her lips.

"C'mere," I breathed, opening my arm for her, and she happily leaned into my side, tucking her head against my arm. "Everything will be okay." I knew she would believe me; whatever was bound to come, however little we may like it, everything would be okay. I had to believe that—we had to believe it.

This was our moment. No matter what transpired in the future, even if I was to never see her again, at least I had this moment with her to call ours.

We sat there and watched the comfortingly repetitive ocean current fold and cycle against the wind, and listened to it crash against the rocky shore below us; it was a numbing lullaby. When Jordane had gone completely limp against me, I knew without looking that she had drifted off. I sat there and let her sleep, taking the time to appreciate the tranquility for a few quiet moments. It didn't take long, however, for the restful haze to begin clouding me. Carefully, I maneuvered to my feet and picked Jordane up; one hand under her knees, the other cradling her firmly around her back. She stirred briefly, nestling her head under my jaw and her hand weakly grasping the collar of my shirt. I smiled fondly when her hand didn't let up even once I had gently placed her in her bed; I softly unwound her fingers from my shirt and sat on the edge of my bed, watching her face fall into a careless absence.

One month ago, if I was watching her sleep, I would eye her with a perplexed awe, rather than adoring every little motion and gesture. I thought back to the words I'd said to her when I first brought her to my house—the ground rules I had laid out, to avoid things getting "complicated".

_Too late for that,_ a jeering voice chided, like a slap in the face.

How far she's come… How far we've both come, and it was dangerous to get too cozy with the concept of "we". I had this grasping feeling, however, that I was already too warmed up to that concept.

My resolve had been steadily declining with each day I spent with her; testing myself, daring to step over the boundaries just a little, simply because of impulsive, selfish desires. It's stupid, irresponsible, and downright iniquitous on my part, especially given what will have to happen after the tournament was over.

I shouldn't be questioning if I'll be able to let her go—I need to, even if I have to force myself to, I have to let her go when the time comes.

It was supposed to be quick and painless, but it would be agonizing and unbearable. I've dug this hole too deep now, for the both of us.

_I'm sorry, Jordane. _I wished I could tell her this, to apologize for letting this get so out of hand. "Jordane," I murmured quietly; I just wanted to say her name, although I knew she was too far into slumber to hear me.

That made it all too easy to let the next forbidden words slip from my mouth in a hopeless sigh, "I think I love you."

Not a twitch of the brow, not a moan, not even a shift in her breathing or heartbeat. Good. It would be my secret, kept safe by the taciturn night.

I crawled into the covers and laid there for a while, waiting for sleep to claim me.

* * *

><p>"Come on," I egged, taking her hand as I led her out our hotel window and into the night sky.<p>

"Where are we going?" she asked, smiling wide as we flew across the ocean.

"It's a surprise." She made a noise of impish complaint, and I grinned.

I was able to navigate to this place without a hitch; we landed on an island far off the shore from the city, and the gibbous moon kissed the luminous skin of the unique plant life in the heart of the oasis.

The look on Jordane's face was even sweeter to see in reality than hazy dreams that provoked this idea. I knew she would love it here.

"Wha…what is this place?"

"It's just a little place I found a couple years ago when I was…clearing my head. This has been where I'd go to escape and meditate every so often when I needed it. And…I wanted to share it with you, because I thought you'd like it." How could she not? The oasis waters were crystal clear, you could see the glowing moss and rocks beneath the surface; surrounding it were shimmering plants, ferns, even the grass radiated a dim shine.

"Is the island populated? By people, I mean?"

"No. And…I haven't brought anyone else here. It's kind of always been just 'my place'; kind of like a sanctuary."

She tore her eyes from the haven before her and looked at me. There was a resigned glint in her expression, as if she was trying not to smile to boldly. "So why'd you bring me here?"

The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitated. As if she knew the answer, the corner of Jordane's lip pulled up, and she came closer to me. I was still holding her hand, and she tightened her grip. "Go ahead," she pressed quietly, her eyes searching mine. "Say it."

She knew. She knew what I wanted to say, she knew why I brought her here. _So, I guess you have no more reason to hide it anymore. _

"I love you." The words came out slow, carefully, and so anti-climactic, yet I felt as if my heart had been released of an iron clutch, finally. I had to say it again. "I love you…and I don't want you to go." Returning her grip, I squeezed her hand in mine, bringing my other hand to caress her soft cheek longingly. "I don't want to let you go."

Her eyes, like fireworks, sparkled and burst. With her mouth parted, words whispered from her lips, "Then don't let me go."

I kissed her. Pulling her close, I lost myself the moment our lips met, and my world started spinning.

Everything faded away, seemed to disintegrate and mold into something new. I was laying on the cool ground, with a mound of warmth radiating against my chest. Opening my eyes, I met Jordane's love-struck face. The glow from the grass enhanced the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled. Her fingertips brushed the shape of my face, from my eyebrows down my cheek and to my lips. The tender simplicity of the gesture was wonderful.

The heat of her was shockingly intimate, while the breeze from the ocean was especially piercing.

She was naked, I was naked. And I didn't care to make a big deal of it. Everything about that moment was perfect, as if time truly was standing still, for us to be like this. There was no interference, no rush, we had no place to be… The tournament, our friends, our parents; none of that was a concern of mine now. We were finally, truly alone.

I drew her into my arms and just held her, losing myself in the way her body fit against mine, with her strong heartbeat lulling me back to sleep.

"GOHAN!"

Jolted awake, I sat up, eyes wide, my heart hammering in my ribcage. I immediately noticed Jordane's absence from my side. I was clothed. The oasis surrounded me still, but everything felt off.

"Jordane?" I called out to the trees, desperately listening for her voice.

A blood-curdling, skin-splittingly horrible scream erupted throughout the sanctuary, striking my heart with petrifying dread. "_GOHAN_!"

I called her name with sheer, terrified abandon, "JORDANE!" and I took off in the direction of her screams, howling her name to keep a window of communication between us open. Each time she cried and shrieked, my heart felt as though it was being yanked out of my chest; I saw her blood, her face contorted in agonizing pain and fear, her body being torn to pieces. No, I would find her before it got to that.

"Jordane! Jordane, where are you?!" I couldn't sense her; why couldn't I sense her? Lost in a maddened haze of panic, I twirled and jerked in this direction and that, hyperventilating. _I can't find her, I can't find her, _my thoughts blared.

"GOHAN, HELP M—!"

Silence. There wasn't even a single cricket or frog.

"No… No, no, no… JORDANE!" I took off in a random direction, somehow feeling in my gut it was the right way. Shoving through a wall of ferns and high bushes, I dug my heels into the ground once I emerged, my body falling cold.

I recognized the figure standing before me. After all, how could I not; he was me, only with upright blonde spikes and aqua-green eyes. He turned his head in my direction and studied me with a blankly severe scowl.

At his feet was Jordane's body; bloodied, mangled, and lifeless.

My own existence fell distantly from my mind. I wanted to fall to my knees, to reach for her and revive her—

"Too late," my ascended clone spat, spiteful mockery singing in his disturbingly even voice. "She's already dead, thanks to you."

* * *

><p>"No" was at the tip of my lips when I came to, jumping to my hands. All I saw before me was the dresser in the corner and the door of the bathroom. As if someone had commanded me, my head immediately turned to my right, and there Jordane lied asleep in her bed, right where I left her. The moonlight from the window caught the rising of her chest with each breath. She was safe. Alive.<p>

With a wretched groan of relief, I fell back onto my pillow, taking deep breaths to calm my heart. _A dream, _I chanted to myself. _It was just a dream. _But my body still felt the icy rush of dread, the paralyzing terror… I crooked my head in Jordane's direction and just watched her sleep, afraid if I took my eyes off her for even one instant, she would disappear.

I stayed like that, guarding her, all the way 'til dawn began to rise above the horizon.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dundun-dundun-dun! **

**Originally, Gohan's dream sequence was…to put it bluntly, just a sex fantasy between him and Jordane…but it was kinda anti-climactic and just bland so I changed it last-minute and came up with the current sequence. I'm glad I did; not only do I feel it is just better, but it foreshadows some stuff for later on ;)**

**Looooovvvee is in the air… "…and it's gonna crash and burn, yeah yeah", as Oolong once put it xD Hmmm sadly, I haven't put Oolong or Puar in this story… Just haven't been able to find a place to fit them in so far :/ But anyhoo, now that Gohan's finally admitted to himself he has feelings for Jordane…how much longer do you think their little "friendship" will last? Will romance be allowed to blossom or will something get in the way? I'm trying to do an epic narration like Kyle Hebert from the show but I'm failing miserably…lol We'll find out on the next chappie of DragonBall Z Black Moon ;)**

**Thank you for the reviews, everybody! To my "guest" readers: thank you for taking the time to read my story and for leaving feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying my story :) Keep dropping those reviews! **

**'Til next time! **

** - J**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


	35. 34: Pride

**34. Pride**

**_Jordane_**

I arose surprisingly early the morning of the second rounds, despite how late I had stayed up. I didn't remember much after my heart-to-heart with Gohan on the rocks; I hadn't intended on falling asleep.

He was already up by the time I awoke; he looked deprived, though, as if he didn't get a full night's sleep. When I asked him about it, he simply assured me he was fine. I wasn't too sold, but he didn't give me the chance to drill it out of him, for we had to get ready for the busy day ahead.

After a hot shower, I had just dried my hair and slipped my undergarments on when there was a gentle knock at the bathroom doors. "Hey," Gohan murmured from the other side. "So…did you sleep okay? It's going to be a long day today."

"I slept fine," I assured him, gazing at the doors as if I was looking at him. "I would ask you how you slept, only I don't think you did get very much sleep."

He chuckled quietly. "Ah, I just had a lot on my mind, I guess." There was a catch in his voice, as if there was something more he wanted to say, but wasn't sure if he should proceed. I knew that feeling all too well.

Walking for the door, I slid it open just enough for me to poke my face through, keeping the rest of my half-naked body inclined behind the door. Gohan only smiled rigidly. Why was he so tense all of a sudden?

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked, racking my brain for an answer rather than wait for him. I clung onto the only explanation in close reach. "Does my moving back to Washington have anything to do with it…?"

As if caught, Gohan grunted a short sigh, leaning against the sturdy door. "Well, I would be lying if I said no, but it's not… I mean, I'm happy that you'll be moving back home."

My spirit withered a little. His attitude, though; it sure didn't suggest he was happy.

"I just…wish you the best. It's going to be odd, though, having you gone. Not just because I've gotten so used to you in this short amount of time, but it'll be weird, not being able to keep an eye on you."

I smirked. "What, you worried I'll still blow up a school?"

Furrowing his brows, he chuckled witlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, it's not that." His smile morphed into a pensive frown, his brows setting over his eyes. When those eyes returned to me, they were tainted with sadness.

"Jordane, when we first made this arrangement, I was just going to teach you how to control your powers, and by Kami's grace, find some way to just keep my distance from you. You moving to Washington works perfectly with that plan."

It did, didn't it? I never bothered to think past my training, what it would mean for us. I just figured our friendship would continue; after all, I was a part of his pack, how could we stay away from each other in everyday life? _I guess now everything will go according to his plan. _

He wasn't finished. "But now…after all we've been through, I am unsure of myself; I don't know if I can just let you go and pretend we never met." Neither of us blinked at this point; I was sure he could see the climbing tempo of my heart in my eyes, as if he couldn't hear it already.

"I've never had a relationship with anyone like the one I have with you. You and I may come from different lives, but even that doesn't matter; we just have this unspoken connection to where we can open up and understand one another in ways no one else can."

Clearing my throat, I struggled to hang on to any last piece of sense and practicality there was in the situation, to steer us off this road that was bound to lead us into uncharted territory.

This was rather difficult to do, since a small part of me wanted to go speeding down that road. "Being part Saiyan plays a primary role, but aside from that, you and I are both private, secluded people, Gohan. Neither of us wears our hearts on our sleeves; we only open up so much to certain people in our lives. But we are open books around each other." _Most of the time. _But that was the issue, wasn't it? We became too attached. I did understand why that was such a quandary for him—at least I knew why it was; at this point, I couldn't quite say I sincerely understood why he was still so dogged to keep us from getting too close.

"I'd like us to stay friends, Jordane; I mean, I want this to keep going after the tournament is over, after you move back to Washington."

Relief flooded into me like a coursing river. After I hummed in agreement, we both fell silent.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

Shifting, I arranged myself in the crack of the door, which was big enough for me to fit my shoulder through. I don't know why I felt the need to stick more than my head out in sight. "Are you sure?"

He smiled. "Yes."

Bringing my hand out from behind the door, I let it reach over until my fingertips brushed against his in a ghostly caress. Suddenly, I felt brave. "You know, I said we were like open books to each other, but we do still hide things from one another. Not a lot, but…" I glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. "There are small things neither of us obviously has the guts to bring up first…but, since my time here is limited, when are we going to talk about them?" I knew I didn't have to clarify just what I was referring to. All that's come unraveled between us in the past couple of weeks, we both used up so much energy ignoring and denying it to ourselves as much as we did each other, it was so palpable, even without any words.

"I don't know, but it's not now. It's just not the right time," he answered sternly.

_There never will be a right time to you. _"Why not?"

When he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed, his brows pulling together slightly. "Because I'm still figuring things out," he said with a hopeless sigh. "You're my best friend, Jordane, and I don't want to ruin what we have between us, because that's one thing we promised each other wouldn't happen, and…well, things got complicated anyways."

"But it's a good kind of complicated," I amended carefully, gaining confidence with each overpowering pulse of my heart. "I understand where you're coming from. I don't want to do or say anything that would jeopardize our friendship, but out of the three months we've been friends, we've spent nearly two months pretending that nothing else is happening between us—that we are nothing more than friends, when we both know that's not the case." _Holy crap. _I did it. I finally said it.

I didn't realize I was one step away from hyperventilating; my breathing was loud even through my nostrils. Wait, it wasn't just my own breathing that was noisy.

As if he was in pain, Gohan grimaced, but it wasn't too severe; he just looked as though he was losing a fight within himself—a fight he couldn't afford to lose. "Jordane… You're something special to me and I don't want to lose you by any circumstance."

"I know," I said, squeezing his fingers between mine. "Just keep in mind that what we have shouldn't be something you have to fight. I don't want you to fight your feelings and what you want." _And I shouldn't have to keep fighting what I want._ "Just tell me what you want, please." Deep down, a part of me was scared to hear the answer. That fear, however, stirred the desire to defy it. Quite counteractive.

"What I want…," he murmured, looking down at our joined hands. His shoulders rose and fell with his even but deep breaths. With his exhale, the words slipped out, "I want to kiss you."

He closed his eyes, as if the confession somehow brought him a strangled sense of agonizing relief, and he opened his eyes so he could look at me. Conflict raged within those eyes, like hordes of flames clashing against a wall of ice. "You have no idea how terribly I want to kiss you. But we both know why I won't."

"What if I kiss you?"

He called my bluff. "You won't, for the same reasons you haven't kissed me in all these weeks, in spite of the opportunities." He knew me too well; he knew I wouldn't be the one to make the first move, because, as much as I wanted it, I was also afraid. I was afraid of everything that was happening between us, afraid of where it would lead us.

The door opened, nearly giving us a heart attack. It was just Goku, cheerfully oblivious as ever, even as Gohan and I continued to hold hands. "The crowds are filling up the stadium, it's almost time. Are you guys ready?"

"Almost," Gohan answered, his voice somehow strong and even.

"All right, hurry up."

Before I could do or say anything, Gohan was leaning into me, and next thing I felt was the warmth of his lips on my forehead; one peck, then another prolonged smooch just between my eyebrows. He didn't give me a chance to return the favor, for he left to his bed, where his gi uniform was neatly laid out.

I needed to finish getting ready, but once I had closed the bathroom door, I fell limp against it, staring into empty space. So many thoughts zigzagging all around my head, yet I couldn't find just one to grasp onto.

What just happened? _You know what happened. He just freaking kissed you!_

This was just all spiraling out of control so fast; it felt so good but it was also terrifying… How were we going to walk out there with everyone and act like none of the last five minutes even transpired?

_You're overthinking, _I snapped. _Just get dressed and get out there. _

I was able to slip into my gi—tying the sash correctly on my own—and I walked wordlessly beside Gohan for the fighters' lounge. Every few minutes I mentally checked my facial expressions, to make sure I wasn't giving away anything in the slightest tic of my brow or pitch alteration in my voice.

My match was third, so I sat quietly on the bench while Gohan stood with Goku watching the matches unfold. And as they did that, I watched Gohan, in awe of how outwardly collected he seemed—until I looked deeper. With my keen eye for observation, and memorizing him like I had, I could see the slight tension in his deceivingly even shoulders, I counted an extra blink too many in his attempts to not look at me, and I caught on to the wistful frown at the corner of his lips that would have been mistaken as his typical somber indifference. My skills in dissecting his masks were improving.

What would happen after the rounds were over? If matters became this complicated overnight, what else could possibly be tempted to transpire in just a matter of hours? Gohan and I couldn't avoid each other all night, but I wasn't sure if I had the tolerance to put on a façade and pretend everything was innocent and normal.

Similarly to the first rounds, we had picked our opponents through a random draw earlier that morning, so as I waited for my match to come, I took a glance over at my opponent. He was a behemoth, which was surprising because most who were tall and bulky didn't make it this far into the competition. Brute strength was obviously his advantage, but since I was faster, I should be fine.

"You okay?" Gohan asked, standing beside me and looking in the same direction.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just studying my opponent."

"Smart," he commended. "Are you nervous?" I half-shrugged, not exactly a confirmation or dismissal. "You'll be fine. Just be sure to stick to his blind spots, keep moving, and deck him in his most vulnerable spot."

Looking at the man, it was difficult to imagine he had any vulnerable points; eight feet of bulging flesh and muscle, long, greasy black hair tied back in a ponytail, and his blue eyes were rabid. In the brief instant our eyes met, he didn't look at me with a jeering spite like the other opponents did. He almost looked hungry; ravening for carnage.

"He kind of gives me the creeps," I murmured to Gohan.

"I see what you mean. I've been getting a shady vibe from him since the drawing." He scanned the big guy diligently, and his brows furrowed. "Are you sure you're good?" he asked, turning to me.

I grinned. "You don't need to worry about me, I can kick his ass."

He smiled. "Of course you will."

The next match was announced, and I rose to join my opponent. He was taking his sweet time, conversing with another man with a bald head, just a tad smaller in frame. Before I took another step for the threshold, I stopped in my tracks, tapping the tips of my fingers together.

Whatever would happen between Gohan and I after the competition today, it was going to be a continuation of last night; I could either embrace it or continue fighting. _Everything is past the point of going back now. And I'm tired of fighting. _

"Gohan?"

As always, he focused his full attention to me as soon as I addressed him.

"I, uh, want to talk to you, after these rounds are over. Maybe we can go somewhere private and talk later?"

He gawked at me for a few seconds and then blinked in a flustered manner, but his brows remained stationary. His cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink, and I could have sworn the corner of his mouth quirked up, in spite of himself. Clearing his throat, he didn't take his eyes off me as he nodded stiffly. "Sure," he rasped.

He knew what I wanted, and it was easy to see he was as scared as I was; maybe, just maybe, a small part of him was looking forward to it.

Smiling, I turned and walked out into the arena. The roar of the crowd wasn't so disorienting anymore, I no longer felt like I was the size of a flea. My friends and pack cheered for me from a few rows up; my eyes immediately found them without searching.

Behind me, I could feel my opponent—Needo was his name—walking at a tense pace. When he joined me in the ring, he glared at me with a malicious scowl, focusing on me as if I was the only person in this entire stadium.

With the sound of the giant gong, "Let the match begin!"

The brute didn't waste any time; as soon as that gong rang out, he lunged for me with startling speed. There was plenty space for me to duck below his arm. He was in a hurry to turn on his heel and pounce again, and I met him head-on, blocking his kick with my leg. It barely stung, so I was able to bounce back and fling my fist toward his face. Contact. It was too easy.

We exchanged a few blows of fists, but they were hardly my strongest. I didn't want to waste any more of my time in the ring with this guy. Coming up from under him, I delivered a more than ample punch straight to his bulging jaw, propelling him back until he fell hard on the ring floor.

Jeff was quick to call the fight. "Needo is down! I'll start the count—!" Before he could even get to one, Needo shifted, pushing himself up to his feet. It didn't surprise me he wasn't going to go down easily.

_One more round should do it. _When I met him again, we were in a furious storm of punches and blocking blows. I actually had to exert some considerable energy to return blows that would do any significant damage. Each time my fist made contact with his flesh, it gave way; he'd grunt or groan, and stumble.

The second time I sent him hurdling to the ground, he stayed down longer than the first time. Turned out, he was hamming it up, because as soon as Jeff started the count, Needo rose to his feet.

_Damn, this guy's stubborn. _It was getting annoying.

I charged for him, thrusting myself into the air and sending my foot into his face; I used my energy to propel forward and jab my elbow into his chest. He collided into the arena floor with an earth-rumbling force.

"He's back down!"

_And he better stay down. _As Jeff started the count for the third time, I went ahead and started to excuse myself from the arena. Before I could make it to the stairs, an excited "Whoa!" bellowed out, and I barely turned my head when a zooming shape lashed out for my face, sending me flying toward the edge of the arena. To my shock, the side of my face stung where Needo had struck me. Hardly had me seeing stars, though.

I quickly flipped onto my feet, just barely escaping another blow by throwing myself to the floor out of his way. How the hell did he get so damn quick all of a sudden?

He kept barreling for me; all I could do was block his punches and kicks, a little bewildered at his boost in aggression. In my peripheral was the edge of the arena, and I was three steps away from meeting the drop-off. Needo had all escape routes covered; I couldn't slip away on either side, I couldn't go backwards.

The all too familiar, predatory instinct roused a simmering heat in my gut. I would have to make myself an escape path.

I lunged for his stomach with my crooked elbow, using my intangible energies in addition to my physical strength to shove him away. Even once he'd stumbled back a ways, I launched myself for him again, I wasn't going to give him the chance to bounce back.

My knee and shin came in bone-breaking contact with his jaw. That should be enough to put him down, finally. Hopefully.

Needo fell like a boulder to the floor, but just as relief was about to wash over me, my body fell rigid, as if I'd been wrapped in ice.

I couldn't see Needo's face, because it was planted against the tile of the arena floor, although he had landed on his back. My kick had snapped his neck and pivoted his head backwards. His massive body twitched and convulsed, and finally went still. I listened carefully, and a violent shiver rocked my body when I couldn't hear his heartbeat. Though the entire arena was nearly silent with the exception of depleted gasps and dull clamoring, my head was filled with the sound of rushing blood and my own hyperactive pulse.

"Well, uh…this is the first in many, many years we've had a scenario like this…" Jeff's words were muffled; he sounded far away. My eyes found Gohan on the other side of the arena, still under the shaded cover of the lounge threshold. He and Goku both gawked at me in astonishment.

"…I'm afraid Jordane will have to be disqualified, for using such excessive force that resulted in the death of her opponent—"

The fact I would be disqualified didn't mean anything, not now. _I just killed someone… _I didn't mean to hit him that hard, how could I have hit him that hard to twist his neck?

Because he cornered me… Restraint wasn't a concern of mine in my attempts to drive him away, to rob him of his advantage over me. Now he's dead.

The arena had erupted in another wave of gasps and shrieks, growing louder than my own rambling thoughts. At the corner of my eyes, I saw Needo's body twitch. Then he began to move; one leg, then another leg, and his whole body began to rise.

_No, no way… _I should have been relieved he wasn't dead, but sheer dread was all that consumed me as I watched the dead man rise to his feet. His head was still disgustingly twisted out of place, but not for long. His hands came up, taking hold of either side of his skull, and he began to turn. I could hear cartilage and bone grinding and cracking; my stomach flipped, nearly sending bile up into my throat.

By the time he yanked his jaw and skull back into place with a loud snap, I was so disembodied that all awareness of my own body fell away.

Needo just rotated and snapped his dislocated, rolled skull back in place. He cranked and stretched his neck, as if he was smoothing out a simple muscle kink. There was a sick new look in his alert eyes, like a mocking, predatory thrill.

It was impossible. Not even werewolves could bounce back from a broken, twisted neck—not to mention the fact his heart had _stopped_.

_What the hell is this guy? _

All I did was blink, and Needo had once again burst his speed and his leg made contact with the side of my face before I could fully dodge out of the way. I landed on the arena floor with a skidding thud. _Damn_.

I dodged another hit, but had to keep bouncing back and forth from one corner to another, for Needo had managed to keep up with my speed at that point. So, I kicked it into high gear and leapt as far and fast as I could to put as much space between him and I as possible.

What could I do? I was appalled at myself that I was scared to attack… But what I did to his neck still loitered in my mind—the horrific, disgusting way his head was displaced… I was afraid of doing that again.

_What choice do I have? _

Rather than hopping away from him, I shifted course and charged, delivering a crushing blow to his ribs. I felt something crack, but instead of flying to the other side of the arena, he only skidded a few inches. Taking me by complete surprise, he grabbed hold of me by my waist and chucked me straight up into the air. Before I started descending, I exerted my energy and hovered in the air. When I realized just how high I was, it almost made me dizzy—not the height itself, but the fact that he was able to throw me to such an extreme. I must have been nearly a hundred feet up.

Jeff shouted exclamations of amazement and feigned disbelief of what was happening, but given the fact that he was there when Piccolo and Goku dueled twenty years ago, I would think he'd be used to this stuff by now.

Flummoxed, I lingered in the air for a while, calculating my next move. It seemed no matter where or how I came at him, no matter how hard I knocked him down, Needo still managed to get back up… Something twisted in my gut. No human being should be able to withstand my attacks like this.

The only sensible thing to do, one would figure, was to forfeit the match. No. I didn't want to listen to reason; throwing in the towel now was not an option.

_I've just got to drive him toward the end of the ring and push him out. _

I blinked, and then again when I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me; the distance between Needo and I was shrinking. Was gravity pushing me to the ground to him? Was I losing energy to stay in the air?

No. It was Needo; he was leaving the ground.

He was _flying_.

I dodged out of his way, but he rocketed past me another fifty feet in the air. He didn't take his eyes off me, his grin wide and spine-chillingly devious.

Now what?

I was so occupied on assessing what my next move should be that my reaction time was delayed a tenth of a second more than what was comfortable when he came lunging for me. I zig-zagged in the air above the arena, trying to shake Needo off my tail, but not accomplishing much, for he matched my pace with shocking accuracy.

There was a sudden spike of energy, and I turned just in time to avoid getting hit with a pinkish energy blast. Shocked by the presence of such a weapon, I looked back at Needo just to make sure it had come from him; his arm was extended, palm open, and he served another attack, one that I also avoided.

He came so close to catching me in the air, I had to veer down back toward the ring, and in my descent, something hit my shoulder, and heat spread through my back. I wavered in the air, just barely managing to keep from colliding with the arena floor. Needo was still careening for me, palm open and ready to release another blast—

Feral instinct kicked in, and I brought the heels of both my palms together, summoned a cluster of energy between them, uttering the words in a hurried breath, "Kamehameha", and thrust my hands forward, sending a beam of energy rocketing for Needo.

For a moment, I couldn't tell if he was engulfed in the blast or if he dodged it. I got my answer when my eyes adjusted from the light, and I saw him still hovering in the air, just a few meters away from where I'd aimed my Kamehameha wave. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach again; not only was my one shot a miss, but my body was overcome with a draining lethargy, my energy plummeting.

Needo returned to the arena floor, still towering over me. I wasn't sure if I had the energy to keep playing cat and mouse with him in order for the right opportunity to present itself to knock him out of the arena.

_What are you talking about, _I snapped to myself, a hot wave of defiance rising in my blood. _This bastard isn't going to wind me so easily._ I charged, throwing my fist straight to his jaw, and it collided fiercely with bone and flesh. To my dreaded astonishment, it barely fazed him. Before I could serve another blow, I was yanked by my wrist and was vaulted up into the air as if I weighed nothing. Before I could direct my energy to stop my ascent, something hit me from the back, right between my shoulders, and plummeted back for the floor.

My hands and arms stung when I just barely managed to catch myself from slamming face-first into the tile floor. In that same lungful of air, I propelled myself away in a random direction in case Needo intended on following through with the attack.

When he landed in the center of the ring, I stayed several yards away, close to the edge; not the most intelligent place to linger, but it was far away from him.

The burning, pinching ache in my lungs and back, rather than meriting concern, roused my annoyance and anger. _I am not winded, _I silently growled, as if trying to wipe Needo's disgustingly superior grin right off his face.

What was I doing, cowering from him like this? I was not afraid of him, I was not afraid of pain; I _was not_ _afraid_, so why was I wasting all my energy in keeping away from him?

_I need to take him out, now. _

"Jordane seems to be rather winded, it will be interesting to see if she can finish the match," Jeff's voice blared, obnoxious to my ears. His words only added to my irritancy.

_I'll show you winded. _Ignoring the dulling pressure in my back, I lunged forward, going straight for Needo's legs to knock them out from under him. He landed on his back, and I quickly pounded my fist into his rock-hard stomach with relentless jabs. It was briefly effective, but it didn't take long at all for him to catch my fist in his massive hand, and I couldn't yank it free. We glared at each other; he still wore that damn evil-looking grin, and it pissed me off more than it scared me.

I couldn't get freed in time; he served me a quick jab to the face, disorienting me long enough for him to throw me down onto the floor like a guitarist slamming his guitar on the stage at a concert. It continued for a few swats, until I felt something _pop, _binding heat spreading all across my back and shoulders. Using my abdominal muscles, I curled myself inward and struck at his face with my foot. He released me, and I landed on the arena floor with a jostling thud. It smacked my right shoulder back in place, and I quickly brought myself back to my feet, only to ram head-first into Needo's stomach, my legs pushing and driving me toward the edge of the arena, but before I could push him over, he dug his heels in and I couldn't make him budge another inch.

His fist came down on my back, knocking my stance uneven, and his knee swung up to hit my stomach, knocking the wind out of me my lungs.

How could his attacks be getting more aggressive? While I—_While you're what? _my pride spat. _You are a werewolf, you are a Saiyan, for God's sake! This freak pumped on steroids has nothing on you. _

I served another punch to his gut, in which he returned just as fiercely with an uppercut to my chin, then another kick that sent me falling back and I landed on my back, my skull hitting the solid arena floor. Black spots pulsed at the edges of my vision, even as I blinked several times to alleviate them.

For whatever reason Needo was hanging back and not attacking, I couldn't know; he simply left me alone as I tried to sit up, but once I did, my brain seemed to sway inside my skull, leaving me feeling unsteady in spite of the world that sat still around me.

"Whoa, would you look at this! Jordane is actually struggling to get back into the fight! Looks like she took a pretty hard dive there, but this girl just won't stop, and neither will her opponent!"

"Jordane," Gohan's voice whispered in my ear, as if he was right by me. When the dizziness subsided, I glanced back for the entrance to the fighter's lounge, where Gohan and Goku stood, glaring at the scene before them in the arena; they both looked disturbingly concerned. Gohan's eyes, however, were focused on me. "Dad and I think it'd be a good idea to throw this fight. There's no telling what other things this guy has up his sleeve."

What_ did he just say? _

Did he honestly expect me to throw in the towel this early in the fight—in front of hundreds of people—all because I was getting tossed around a little? _No. _I was going to take this to the end, the way it was meant to—until only one of us was left standing.

As if he could see my answer in my eyes, Gohan's expression shifted to a severe scowl at my defiance.

I got to my feet, standing confidently in my step again. It was time for me to pull out any stops and go at Needo with some brute force of my own. My target was his face this time, and I launched forward, dodging his punch and serving him one with my right, then another with my left, unrelenting one after another. With each strike, Needo stumbled backward; I just had to keep him going for another dozen feet…

He stopped skidding, his jaw quit giving to my punches; I caught the end of a grin, just before his head lurched forward and collided with my forehead. His fist slammed me back into the floor. Before his foot could kick my side, I apparated, coming up from behind him and driving my knee into his spine. It flustered him enough for me to lock my arm around his throat, his jugular fitting in the crook of my arm, and I squeezed against him. He choked and gagged, trying to pry my arms with his hands, but my hands and wrists were locked tight.

As a last resort, he began throwing himself this way and that, tossing and jerking in random directions to waver my hold, but I was holding on out of sheer stubbornness. For a tense instant, I thought I had this in the bag. Then we began to fall backward, and I was smashed into the arena floor, with Needo on top of me. My lungs deflated, my ribs cracked, but I didn't let go; he did it again, lifting himself up and then slamming us back into the floor. I lost another lungful of air I didn't have to begin with, something in my chest snapped, and my arms unlocked from his neck.

I didn't even have a second to recover; Needo was on his feet, sending violent kicks to my side. My mind told me to curl up in a ball, to try and protect myself, but instinct told me otherwise.

When his leg came back, I latched onto it with my hands just as it hit me; I grew my claws to an impressive length and dug them into the muscular flesh of his calf, curling my fingers inward to drive them deep. He threw his head back in a howl of pain, and he hobbled on one leg, desperately trying to shake me off. He reached down and grabbed my ponytail, yanking me off of his leg and holding me up to his face; I dangled off the ground.

In spite of what I'd done to him, his face was still glazed with a sick thrill and amusement, his grin wide as ever. I collected enough saliva in my mouth and then projected it onto his face. That made his smirk disappear, slowly. He bashed my head in to his knee, and threw me back down on the ground, where I lied still, my vision moving and shifting and blotched. A kick to the stomach, then another one to the side, and then to my pelvis…

Using the last drop of energy I could find, I served a ki blast to his face, and it collided. It bought me a few seconds, but it wasn't near enough; I was barely on my knees when he clasped his hand around the nape of my neck, fingers jabbing at my jugular.

My spine was lit with a streak of fire—not from anything Needo did, but from a primal, instinctual panic to defend myself, to shed my human mask and show him just what he was messing with.

_No, I can't! _I couldn't change here; not in front of all these people. If they treated super-human beings with otherworldly powers as glorified outsiders, who knew what they would think if they knew werewolves were among them.

_So what can I do? _That Kamehameha completely drained me of my energy; I couldn't believe I did it so sloppily, I was in such a rush that I didn't focus any of my energy correctly, and just spent it all on that one blast… Needless to say, I screwed myself over.

Giving up was still not an option. I'd never forfeited a fight before, I was _not_ going to start now.

Drawing from the sheer force of my obstinate will, I latched my hands back on his wrist, and I dug my claws back in, driving for cartilage and ligaments, and then tearing them apart, trying to reach bone so I could dislocate the wrist joint. Finally, I succeeded, ignoring the slimy, wet feeling of blood and cartilage, I grasped onto the bone of his forearm and his hand, then I yanked and bent them apart. Something snapped sickly, and he howled in pain. I let go and fell to the floor, scrambling to get away. When I looked back at him, his right hand dangled from his wrist, with skin and small tendons the only thing keeping his hand connected to his arm.

"Holy cow! That's…that's gruesome," Jeff stammered, disgust thick in his weak voice. I caught many parents in the audience covering their children's eyes, including Bulma and Chichi, in spite of Trunks' fidgeting attempts to see what was happening. Needo glowered back at me with hatred, taken aback that I could do such damage to him.

The disgusting surprises didn't stop. I noticed, in spite of the gaping, severe wound I inflicted on him, not one drop of his blood spilled anywhere. In fact, not one inch of his skin was blistered, bruised, or bleeding, anywhere on his face, arms, or legs. The flesh inside his arm looked black.

Was this bastard even human?

I could still hear Gohan's urgent hissing in my ear, telling me I should stand down while I still could, but the buzzing defiance in my head drowned his words of reason. I wanted to beat this freak with my own hands; I wanted to defeat the giant on my own.

Anger swelled inside me when Needo began to connect his hand, adjusting the joint so it snapped back into place; like shrinking rubber, his skin tightened and molded back together, becoming intact once again.

Uttering a guttural outcry of frustration, I charged, pounding his flesh with my knuckles, but for each blow I gave, he returned it ten-fold, far harder than any strike I took prior. It sent me for a loop, and next I knew, I was face-down in the arena floor. Not for long, though; he picked me up by my hair with one hand, and with his other hand, punched my body—my chest, my stomach, everywhere he could reach. I curled myself into a ball, kicking out at him whenever I could.

In another breath, he tossed me back into the air, and before I could maneuver and collect my energy to straighten myself out, he had sped past me in the air and slammed his fists into my back, sending me hurling back down into the arena floor with bone-breaking contact.

I tasted the copper tang of blood in my mouth, heated pain radiating throughout my entire body, lighting it on fire, but a different kind of fire—one that consumed and seared me from the inside out, making any and all function obsolete.

Blinding white heat struck like lightning when Needo's foot slammed into my waist; for a brief moment I was off the ground and thudded back onto the floor with a voiceless yelp. Then there was pressure, a suffocating pressure on my back, from where Needo's foot planted itself and pressed down.

In a last attempt, I tried pushing myself up and defying his force, unsuccessful when a ki blast hit me back down. Needo's full weight bore down on my shoulders as he walked on me to get to my other side, and he started pounding with his foot to my gut once more, cracking and dislocating the ribs on that side. I no longer had any residual strength to strike back, no last ounce of wit to concoct a plan of escape—nothing except to curl into a ball and protect my vital organs. By the time my cracked bones would start to heal, Needo re-broke them and broke even more in their place. I couldn't get a leg up, not anymore. The pain was so overbearing, I couldn't think about anything else.

I was at a loss; all that I'd learned, all that Goku and Gohan taught me, surely I should be able to find something! There had to be something else, something I hadn't thought of… What else was there? _What else_?!

Blood surged to my head in a muffling rush, but I could hear the faint calls of Jeff over the intercom speakers, making futile verbal attempts to call and end the fight. Nothing he screamed or demanded shook Needo's resolve; he just kept kicking.

When he finally stopped, I sighed a shaken breath of relief, thinking he was finished and content with winning the match. In a strangled choke, I realized it wasn't true, when the pressure of his foot returned to my back, and he pressed down. If there were any ribs still intact, they weren't going to be for long; I could feel discs in my spine shift and crack under his unearthly strength. My ribcage was giving, my spine being squeezed and compressed into hard tile, and I let a wheezing cry slip from the back of my throat. It was a pain I'd never known before, like liquid fire coursing through each nerve and vein. It consumed every inch of me, and I couldn't escape it. My defiance and pride gave under the overwhelming agony I was trapped in.

A sheet of white blurs obscured my vision, blackness slowly creeping in from the distant edges. What little instinct I had screamed to resist it, but with it came a mind-numbing comfort, a welcome relief from the torture.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I AM BACK! I apologize for not updating in so long. Been going through a lot of personal stuff lately, so I ended up taking an unexpected hiatus. On top of that, I had computer issues for about a week and then had to wait another week for my computer guy to fix it/get my computer back to me... I tried writing as much as I could with just good ol' pen and paper, but I was focusing more working on my original novel trilogy than I was with my fanfics… :/ Sorry, guys! I got through this chapter in a hurry, hopefully it's still decent… I'm halfway through chapter 36, whirl-winding through it as we speak, while juggling my original novel trilogy and its prequel. Oh my… So many stories, so little time in a day! **

**This scene may feel a little familiar… Yeeaaaaahhh it's inspired by Videl's fight with Spopovich in the tournament Saga… I cheated a little…haha.**

**Thank you to all who've read and reviewed in my absence! This is the bummer about posting fanfiction/stories that aren't complete…readers gotta keep waiting for the next chapter! Just want to remind you guys and let newer readers know: just because I don't update in while, does NOT mean I have given up on the story! I know it happens a lot to other great fanfics and stories, but not with me—I am quite literally incapable of quitting a story once I have started writing it, unless I absolutely cannot find a way to make it work, which is extremely rare. I've got this story planned right down to the last chapter (I kid you not, I have mountains of hand-written notes that go chapter-by-chapter with events), so if I don't update for a while, it's because of one of the following: I've got writer's block for this particular story, or for writing, period; I prioritize and am working on another story or my original novels; or I have computer troubles. So fear not! It may take me a while, but I will eventually update! lol**

**Thanks again for sticking with me, you guys! This story's still got a LONG ways to go, but I hope it'll be a story you guys still enjoy by the time I get to the ending chapter! **

**- J**

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	36. 35: A Sight for Dying Eyes

**35. A Sight for Dying Eyes**

**_Gohan_**

My mouth was agape in disbelief at how Needo blocked and deflected each of Jordane's blows—I witnessed how with each effort, her energy plummeted, while Needo's energy only increased. It just didn't make sense.

I could still hear Vegeta's cynically superior heed echo in my mind, "Well, a lot of good teaching her the Kamehameha did. You didn't educate her very thoroughly in energy concentration and dispersal; she deposited all her energy into that one attack and now she has nothing left."

How could I skip that essential factor? She caught me so off-guard when she told me she wanted me to teach her the Kamehameha, and we had such a limited amount of time, I hurriedly taught her the basics, to amuse her, not ever dreaming that she would ever be in a position to use it to defend herself. Now what should have been a weapon to keep her safe had just rendered her helpless.

Needo fixing his broken neck, and now repairing his hand, where Jordane had torn it apart at the wrist with her claws, it confirmed mine and Dad's suspicions that Needo was not human, in spite of wearing a convincing guise to look perfectly ordinary aside from his size.

In spite of my advisements which turned into ignored demands, pleading her to throw in the fight before something drastic happened, Jordane still got to her feet after each blow and every fall. _Of course she did_. _She never gives up. _

Needo continued to drive her and pummel her into the ground, throwing her and tossing her like a ragdoll; I glared at Jeff, who stammered and barked tautly that Jordane could clearly no longer continue, that Needo had won the fight, that he'd better cease his actions or the police would apprehend him, but none of it seemed to penetrate his mind.

Why didn't Jeff just call security down here? Nobody did anything, then again, nobody could do a damn thing. Every single face in the audience was chalk white at the brutal beating that unfolded before them—even Jeff, who just stood there like a flustered moron with his mouth gaping wide.

I could hear the snapping and grinding of Jordane's bones under Needo's feet, the breath leaving her lungs, her heart struggling to pulse; at the first yelp of pain, something inside my consciousness snapped. The abused lock on the heavy-bound door that kept every animalistic, savage instinct I had as a Saiyan rattled and shook, little currents zapping up the length of my spine and through to my fingertips. My fists clenched the more my pulse raged, deep and manic.

Needo struck Jordane in the waist. And again in the pelvis. With each blow to her weakened flesh, my heart drummed stronger, igniting the spark deep in the pit of my being with each pulse—deeper than skin, flesh, or organ. It wasn't the Change. No. It was that other unnamable entity in my soul, like an old friend and an enemy all at once, a beast in its own right—one that was a necessity and as much a part of my DNA as the wolf.

My hypersensitive hearing picked up a loud crack, followed by a guttural scream from the depth of Jordane's gut.

The lock on that door was obliterated, and it swung open, and the space around me exploded in a funnel of gold and electricity.

"Gohan—" My father wasn't quick enough to stop me from leaping out of the lounge and driving to the arena. I swung my leg right for the back of Needo's skull, with such force it sent him flying into the ten-foot wall underneath the grand-stands. When the dust cleared, he was embedded deep into the concrete, and before he could move an inch, I was in front of him, raising an energy blast in his direction, almost daring him to make me use a kill move.

Before I could grow even fonder of the idea, my father appeared before me, between Needo and I. His eyes were stern, but never patronizing. "Gohan, you don't want to do this." His voice was even, rational; trying to allay the rampant entity that consumed me.

"No, I think I do," I said in one smooth breath, focusing on Needo, not even looking at my father.

"No, you don't," Dad insisted. "Not here, not in front of all these people. Not in front of Goten and your mother."

My eyes left Needo and acknowledged my father then. He knew how I felt about this power, this part of myself that came raging out like a hurricane—and even more, he knew I didn't want anyone I cared for to witness the acts I carried out, especially not Goten or Mother.

"He'll get what he deserves. But not here, not now."

Needo wheezed and coughed; it grated at my nerves that he was still even conscious. My father's words, however, were more persuasive than the roaring inside my head. Finally, I lowered my hand, and my father's shoulders relaxed.

A slight whimper merited my attention. Jordane lay huddled in a ball on the arena floor. Even from where I was, I could see speckles of blood on the white stone. I rushed to her, but once at her side, I hesitated to touch her; crackles and snaps of electric energy bounced off my skin. It wouldn't be wise to handle her like this.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, commanding the raging lion inside me to return to its den, at least for the time being. With the exhale, the golden aura around me was doused, the radiating electricity in my veins subsiding.

Reaching for Jordane's face, I tried to untangle her arms so she could look at me, but her body was stiff and rigid as wood.

"Hey, hey," I whispered, brushing her tousled hair out of her face. "Jordane, hey." Gingerly, I pried her arms apart, trying to rotate her at a proper angle so I could hold her.

"No," she finally uttered, a breathless grunt. "No, it hurts."

"I know," I told her, my voice weak with empathy; I cringed at her pain. "I know, but I have to get you to Don. It's okay…" She bit back whimpers and cries as I scooped her up in my arms, cradling her close against me. When I turned around, there were medics in white jackets waiting at the edge of the arena, holding a gurney.

"Let us take her to the infirmary," one of them insisted, as if he didn't expect a refusal.

I held Jordane even closer against me, refuting the urge to snarl in defensive possession. "I'll take her myself," I grunted, effortlessly hopping down from the arena without causing any turbulence for the precious cargo I carried.

Ever since the Intergalactic Tournament three years ago, Don has been the volunteer doctor for tournaments, small and large. Thankfully, the infirmary was just a short stretch away from the arena, down a straight pathway and a couple turns. The easy-access door easily pushed open with a nudge of my knee; the spacious, sterile infirmary had no one but Don inside, who was already waiting patiently by a wide gurney.

I laid Jordane delicately down onto the gurney without a word spoken.

"I saw the whole thing," Don murmured somberly, his hands immediately palpating Jordane's bruised waist; she flinched with a groan, grimacing.

_Damn. _Broken bones were nothing for us wolf-kind; they could be healed just like any other wound, but it was getting them to heal correctly that was the issue. With Jordane, the fact she still retained substantial bruising and was still in immense pain even being touched, her ribs were not healing correctly.

"Quite a few are broken… And they aren't properly aligned…"

"So, what does that mean?" she asked in short breaths, looking at me with uneasy eyes.

"We will have to re-break your ribs and wrap them; it'll take at least an entire night of just lying still to get them healed in the right alignment," Don answered for her.

"Bloody fantastic," she grunted cynically, but I caught the fretful curve in her scowl. Don looked at me, eyes assuring and authoritative.

"Gohan, you will probably be able to do it the easier and more accurately." How in the world did I know he would elect me for the task?

Before we could finish the set-up, the door opened. My father gazed down at Jordane with sympathetic eyes, and then looked at me. "I can't believe I just now thought about this, but I can go to Korin and get a Senzu bean, if they have at least one."

_Why didn't _I_ think of that? _I sighed in relief.

"Who's Korin?" Jordane's voice was dry and cracked; Don immediately grabbed a paper cup and went to a water-cooler to fetch her some water.

"He's a caretaker of Kami's tower. He makes these healing beans called Senzus… Take just one, and it can heal someone from the brink of death, even. If you take one of those, we won't have to re-break your ribs; you'll be good as new."

It didn't take much to convince her these days; she'd become accustomed to taking in each detail of my world and soaking it up like a sponge. With a nod, she gave my father the go-ahead; pressing the tips of two fingers to his forehead, he stood in a moment of concentration and dematerialized.

For a few minutes, we waited. While Don busied himself with minuscule maintenance tasks, I stayed by Jordane; I had absently been caressing her bruised hand with my thumb, but even once I finally noticed, I didn't bother to stop.

Dad apparated back into the room, but I didn't see him holding the accustomed little brown bag. "We have a little problem."

"What?" I snapped, not meaning to sound so short with him.

"Korin doesn't have any beans made; he's got to cook them fresh. He said it will take two hours."

"Great."

Don rummaged through his medicine cabinet, reaching for a clear liquid in a vile and extracting it into a syringe. Morphine.

Dad disappeared once again, to hang out with Korin and Yajirobe while they made the beans. Hopefully they didn't take as long as two hours…

"Since you have to wait… A little something to dull the pain so you can rest," Don said, bringing the needle to Jordane's arm. She groaned an unhappy whine; obviously she wasn't fond of needles.

"Hey," I breathed, enough of a lure to direct her eyes to me, and I held them with my own; enclosing my hand over hers, I squeezed as the needle penetrated her skin and Don delivered the morphine. Within a few moments, her body loosened, her facial expression easing up.

Don continued to set up an IV so we could put some fluids back into Jordane's system while we waited for the Senzus.

The door opened yet again; I expected it to be a nosy reporter, but upon finding the face of Renea and Amanda, I rested easy. Jordane's friends all collected around the gurney; I stepped aside to give them room. She smiled at them, but I could see the underlying mortification beneath it—the embarrassment that she got beat to a pulp in front of her friends, who all thought she was invincible.

They all assured her she did amazing, that she kicked ass, and they were all thankful she was still breathing. Amanda, however, still looked very distressed at Jordane's condition.

Renea and the girls gathered round as well, while the guys lingered by the door. None of them looked happy; they were all cross-armed and frowning, with a predatory glint in their eyes. It was a male wolf's duty to protect those in his pack—his mate, his sisters, his brothers, his family; all of us being the protective sorts we were, they loathed not being able to get Needo back for hurting Jordane as much as I did.

Don insisted the others leave so she could rest, that she would rejoin them in a little while. As for me, I hovered. As if I had no control over it, my hand returned to hers, vaguely stroking her knuckles with my thumb. The gesture seemed to comfort her; she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You don't have to stay here with me," she murmured tiredly. "I don't want you to miss your match."

"I don't care about the match," I said, gazing at her. There were two matches to finish before I was up to bat; there was plenty of time to kill. "Besides, I'm afraid if I go out there, I'll be far too tempted to track down Needo and give him what he's got coming."

Jordane was too groggy to argue. At least, not about that. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I should have listened to you, I should have thrown the match…"

_You should have. _Rather than chastise her, I smirked. "We Saiyans are stubborn, proud creatures…," I mused, the only words I needed to say to ease her. She smiled with me. Her pretty brown eyes that were always so alight and lively, were now glossy and languid. Those Senzu beans better cook fast; I hated seeing her like this.

It didn't take long at all for her to doze off into sleep, and I sat in a chair beside the gurney, my eyes remaining on her, as if held in a trance. I studied her face, in a way I've only ever been able to do in meagre spurts. I started at her angled brows, going downward to her curved, petite nose, admiring the way her curved lashes accentuated her soft cheekbones, and then, finally, her modestly fair lips… My jaw tensed, as the image of touching my lips to hers flashed in my mind. I glanced at Don; his eyes were glued to one of the thick novels he loved to read. I could sneak a kiss, a brief caress of lips, and it would have gone unnoticed by him.

Closing my eyes, I suddenly felt tired—mentally sapped. How much longer could I keep doing this to myself?

When I opened my eyes again, I felt another pair of eyes watching me out of my peripheral. Don's focus had left his book and was redirected to me. He eyed me with a paternal delight, the way I've often seen him gaze at Vince and Renea whenever they were together. A gentle smile formed at one corner of his mouth.

"Your endearing loyalty to that girl is admirable," he said. "She's certainly something special to you, isn't she?"

Don's harmless little observation brought me a bizarre sense of comfort. My eyes left him and lingered on Jordane's still sleeping face. "Yes, she is," I acknowledged, under my breath. Don returned to his book, not saying another word.

The remaining hour dragged on excruciatingly; two matches unfolded on the flat-screen hanging on the wall, and soon enough, it was my time. I heard Jeff call my name over the intercom. I didn't realize, but Jordane was awake, just had been resting her eyes.

"You should go," she encouraged, her eyes and voice a little clearer. I was about to disagree, until I looked up at the screen and was reminded just who my opponent was: Heikan, Needo's buddy—or brother, for all I knew.

Jordane must have seen the new glint in my eyes in the way I glared at the flat-screen. "Go get him. Just do one little thing for me."

I returned my full attention to her. "Anything."

"I don't know where Needo is, but whenever you give him what he's got coming… Just save enough room for me to throw a punch in." When she smiled, a weight lifted off my shoulders.

"Deal."

"I'll take care of her," Don assured me. Jeff continued calling my name over the intercom, "Will Son Gohan please report to the arena?"

"Go on," Jordane ushered. "Kick what's-his-face's ass."

Before I could stop myself, I leaned down and gently kissed her forehead, squeezing her hand one last time before I walked out of the room and went jogging for the arena. When I arrived, Heikan stood waiting in the lounge. Like Needo, he was tall and massive, but bald, and with green eyes instead of blue. He carried the same disdainful scowl. Just looking at him made my blood boil, and that fire reignited in my veins. He may not have been the one to beat Jordane to a pulp, but it was blatantly irrefutable he would have either way if she was paired with him instead of Needo.

I couldn't find Needo anywhere in the room. Perhaps security was able to get a hand on him and take him away.

Heikan and I took center ring. Slowly, a smirk spread across his mouth, but it was a different form from Needo's; there was a malignant intelligence behind the glint in his eyes.

As soon as the gong sounded, I barely arranged myself into my stance when Heikan spoke. "I am sure you would rather be facing my brother than me."

"You wouldn't be wrong about that," I said lowly.

"Perhaps you will manage to derive some pleasure from fighting me; it's not as if you have much choice, I don't think."

I wasn't sure where he was going with this. That is, until he kept opening his mouth. "I must admit, my brother did outdo himself with that little friend of yours. He typically doesn't put in half the effort when beating the life out of an insignificant opponent." When he smirked, that heat began to simmer once again beneath my skin. He kept talking. "She put up a commendable fight, but her pride wound up leading to her undoing, didn't it? I wonder if Needo would have killed her if you hadn't come blazing out…"

"It's better, for both your sakes, that he didn't," I growled.

Heikan's hairless brow shifted upward, his eyes purely amused. As to what game he was playing, I didn't know, but it was getting to me all the same. What human conscience I had told me to watch my temper, while the purring beast within tempted me otherwise.

"But I suppose, in being part Saiyan, it was no surprise the girl had so much fight in her. It's that same spirit I am sure you have within as well."

The growing cinders were briefly extinguished. So he and Needo weren't just any ordinary contenders in the tournament; they were here to accomplish something, and whatever it was, it had something to do with Saiyans. "How did you know we are Saiyans?"

Everything about Heikan was still—the only thing that moved was his mouth or his brows. "Let's just say, we have a connection—a connection to a very…experienced source."

I didn't like the sound of that…

"Well, why are you just standing there?" he spat. "I would think you'd be itching to beat me to a pulp, after what my brother did to your little friend."

My jaw shifted with tension. "Do you have a death wish?" I mumbled gravely. My skin crawled when he grinned.

"Maybe."

_Ah, what the hell, _the voice inside me sneered in delight. _Let him stand in the storm and get tossed around a little if he wants. Why not let loose and have a little fun, it's been too long. _

I shouldn't, but that voice was too persuasive, and I was in no mental readiness to keep tussling with it. Let this poor bastard learn the hard way—if he even lived to have a lesson to learn from.

"Come on, boy," Heikan baited. "Don't you want to avenge your friend? Didn't it make your soul burn inside to hear her screams, to see her blood against the arena tiles?"

_This bastard is practically begging for it, _the voice hissed.

_No, wait, _my last voice of reason peeped. _This doesn't feel right. _

The burning instinct snarled at my logic. My blood was boiling, the fire within my bones too strong and furious to douse.

Letting the floodgates burst open, I was surrounded once again in a curtain of gold energy, static snapping like a whip from my skin. The arena beneath my feet trembled, and then the entire stadium shook violently when I released that energy from its constriction in a massive roar.

The look on Heikan's face wasn't that of fear or panic; in fact, his grin only seemed to grow. He looked more in awe than anything.

_I will smack that grin right off his face. _

The crowds around me were roused; I could see people pointing and cameras flashing in my peripheral. Jeff sputtered some excited announcement over the intercom, but all of it was muffled. Like a lion fixated on its kill, I didn't take my eyes off Heikan, even when a suspicion arose inside me, an instinctual pull telling me to turn around.

"So this is what a Super Saiyan looks like… I've got to say, hardly the terrifying, bone-chilling stuff of legend. I mean, really…my brother pulverizes your precious little friend and all you do about it is change your hair and put on a petty light show?" He paused, waiting for my reaction.

My mouth quirked in a parted smile. "Oh, please, don't stop on my account; keep running your mouth. Your whole head is going to be rolling on the ground soon, anyways."

"That's an awful bold promise coming from your mouth, pretty boy." His grin spread wide. "A shame you won't get the chance to follow through with it."

Just as I was about to strike, something happened upon the movement of Heikan's hand; it was as if the weight of the universe was on my shoulders, bearing down on me and locking me in an invisible prison.

_What the hell?! _My brain screamed demands to move, but my body couldn't follow through.

Something heavy collided into my back, an elbow striking the side of my head, and I fell to the ground without any power or ability to regain myself. Even after looking up and finding Needo standing above me, in spite of the anger that churned my gut, I couldn't move. He sneered at me, but all I could do was snarl back.

"Be sure to hold him down," Heikan said, and Needo tossed something large, dark, and metallic at him; next, his hand clasped around my throat, his knee digging in to my ribs. Something shimmered in the air above us; a dome that caught the afternoon sun revealed its existence. Was that what immobilized me?

Needo shifted; a searing fire pierced my chest, so severe and sudden, I roared in pain. In a panicked glance, I saw the metallic object Heikan held was pressed against my ribs, right over my heart. It was sickening; I could feel my heart struggling to pulsate with a sharp object embedded inside. The strangest, most frightening sensation followed—I could feel my energy slipping away, as if someone had reached in and was scooping out my very life essence.

An uproar of commotion erupted all around me. The only voices that stood out were those I would recognize anywhere; my mother's horrified screaming, panicked yelling from Renea and Vince, aggressive battle cries from Piccolo and my father…

And then I heard Jordane call my name.

I fought against the intangible force that restricted me, just to turn my head enough so I could see her.

There she was, on the lawn between the lounge and the arena, being restrained by my father. She fought and squirmed; there had to be a reason he was holding her back.

Nobody was coming past the dome—or they couldn't. I spotted Piccolo in my peripheral, taking to the air and charging his signature Beam Cannon attack. It would take an exceptionally formidable beam to cut through this dome…

My heart sputtered to a slower pace, and my energy collapsed, my golden aura dissipating around me. Jordane cried out, and I tore my eyes back to her, though my vision was failing me already. Did she have tears in her eyes?

I tried to utter her name in hopes she would hear, but I didn't have the strength to even do that, and my life energy only continued to be sapped out of me. I'd experienced this drain before; it was all too familiar, but this time, I had a feeling there wouldn't be a way to reverse it. My fate was apparent now.

_I'm dying… _Of all the images that could be the last thing I would see, I wanted it to be Jordane's face, even if it was contorted in sheer panic. My father stood out as a blur in the background, but with what focus I had left, I kept it on Jordane. If I truly was dying, I wanted the last gaze I would ever share with her to convey all the words I should have told her when I had the chance.

I kept that chain open for as long as I could manage, fighting to keep my eyes open, not wanting to let the darkness take me away from those I loved—from her…

Just as my vision finally faded away, I heard an explosion.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: New chappie! I apologize for the long intervals between updates, I've been writing like crazy, just not on this fanfic… Or any fanfics, for that matter; I've been ridiculously busy working on my original novel trilogy that I plan to publish in the next couple of years.**

**That being said, I rushed through this chapter kind of half-assed, because I was so absorbed in my novel's story and characters that I've been neglecting this… But don't worry, this happens a lot; I'll get back into my consistent writing mojo with Black Moon here shortly, especially since the action is finally picking up in the plot! **

**Thanks a lot, guys! Keep reading and reviewing, especially; the more feedback I get, the more I can improve and get motivated! ;)**

**- J**

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	37. 36: Coincidence

**36. Coincidence**

**_Jordane_**

When Goku arrived at the infirmary an hour sooner than expected, I breathed a labored sigh of relief. Even with the morphine, I still felt like shit; I wanted outta there, immediately.

Gently dropping the Senzu bean on my tongue, Goku watched with his gentle confidence as I chewed the crunchy, chewy bean. Hues of spice burst on my tongue, somewhat bitter and fish-like in aftertaste, but I ignored the tang and swallowed. I waited anxiously for whatever would commence the process, wondering if it would be painful.

It was nothing like I expected; my body was suddenly overtaken by a spastic wave of pure energy. Like a whip, every cell and fiber of my being came alive. The bizarre sensation made me jump to my hands, sitting upright in the cot, eyes wide, breath taken away. Goku's smile was resigned, calm; no need for alarm.

"Wow," I breathed, looking down at my body that _was_ covered in bruises and blood the last I was able to see of it, now completely renewed and reconditioned with not one scratch. My thoughts quickly dropped my fascination with my recovery and redirected to Gohan. "Wh… Gohan's match! Is it over yet?" I didn't expect Needo's buddy to last long against him at all.

"He headed to the arena about ten minutes before Goku came in," Don explained. His eyes went to the flat-screen mounted on the wall. "They haven't done any fighting in all that time."

Indeed, Gohan and Needo's partner in crime weren't dueling; they stood on opposite sides of the arena, locked in a stare-down. I had to get to ringside. Without a word, I hopped down from the cot, giving a quick "Thank you" to Don for looking after me, and booked it down the open walkways, following the signs for the fighter's lounge. When I arrived, the scene hadn't changed much; Gohan was still in a tense, silent glaring match with Heikan.

Krillin welcomed me back, and I thanked him modestly, too focused on the situation in the ring. Listening carefully, I managed to catch on to the coattail of Heikan's words, "Come on, boy. Don't you want to avenge your friend? Didn't it make your soul burn inside to hear her screams, to see her blood against the arena tiles?"

I swallowed. Why was Heikan provoking Gohan like this? Did he not see what he did to Needo?

Shifting my gaze over to Gohan, I was stunned at what I saw; the ghostly trail of a roguish smirk played about his lips, and his black eyes had lightened to a tropical sea green. Suddenly, he burst out with a deep yell—powerful, trembling—and his own energy combusted around him, whiting out the entire stadium. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blinding light, rubbing them and blinking as I attempted to gaze back out to the ring.

The Gohan I knew was gone, and in his place stood a wickedly composed boy with pale blonde hair spiked upright, a single bang whisked in front of his face down to his chin. The furious golden aura was filled with electricity, and I couldn't see his face too clearly. I knew what this was. This was Gohan's "Hyde", the side of himself he despised, and yet here it was, fully uncaged.

I wanted to get closer, to see him in better detail, but my profound wonder kept me immobilized. I'd never seen Gohan even at the first stage of Super Saiyan, and yet there he was before me, powered up to his ultimate level. The air around me was thick with tension, I could sense his power even by just looking at him, no need for that sixth sense.

Something else overtook me—like a déjà vu, yet I couldn't put my finger on just why I would be feeling that way, for I certainly had never been in a situation like this before in my life. So what was it, then?

It wasn't necessarily the situation, but the sensations of what I was feeling were what stood out, were what sparked the ghostly essence of a reverie in the distant corner of childhood memories.

"So that's what an ascended Super Saiyan looks like…," I murmured to myself. It was loud enough for the others to hear.

"Yeah. Amazing, isn't it?" There was a dense pride in Goku's voice when he spoke.

Smiling, I answered, "Yeah, he is."

I finally removed my eyes from Gohan for just a moment to gauge Heikan's reaction—which was hardly what I expected. He looked Gohan over from head to toe, looking thoroughly unimpressed and entertained. He mimicked my words, "So this is what a Super Saiyan looks like…I've got to say, hardly the terrifying, bone-chilling stuff of legend. I mean, really…my brother pulverizes your precious little friend and all you do about it is change your hair and put on a petty light show?"

He paused for a lengthy minute, then Gohan spoke, his mouth parted in a sharp grin, "Oh, please, don't stop on my account; keep running your mouth. Your whole head is going to be rolling on the ground soon, anyways." I didn't know if it was the ominous words or the tone in which he spoke them, but his voice was…different. Devilishly smooth, with a sleeping drawl of savagery.

"That's an awful bold promise coming from your mouth, pretty boy. A shame you won't get the chance to follow through with it."

Before any of us could comprehend his words, Heikan raised his hand, and with its motion, Gohan froze. A choked scream squeaked in the back of my throat when Needo suddenly apparated behind him, striking him in the back of the head with his elbow and sending him to the floor. Needo jumped on top of him, holding him down by his neck and digging his knee into his ribs; Needo had given Heikan a black, metallic object cylindrical in body with a horrid-looking sharp end protruding from a neck. He ordered Needo to hold Gohan still, and like a stalking predator closing in on him, he thrust the pointed end of the device into Gohan's chest. His body convulsed at first, his jaw clenching in pain, but he couldn't move or strike them away.

Everybody around me called Gohan's name in paternal panic, but no words came from my own mouth. I didn't think; my legs sprang me forward, the only thing in my mind was to get to him, to save him like he had saved me. My pursuit was impeded; someone held me back with strong, unrelenting arms, but others around me charged for the ring, Piccolo being one of them. My heart leapt when it looked as though he would be able to save Gohan. It took a violent turn when he was bounced away from the ring—all while in open air—and was sent hurling into the wall of the fighter's lounge. An invisible mass shifted and shimmered glossy colors of pink and green; the afternoon sun highlighted the shape of a swelling dome, covering the entire ring.

I could hear Chichi screeching and crying in terror; I saw Vince and the pack rousing all the way up in the high rows of the stands, trying to fight their way down through the galvanized crowd. Piccolo was back in the air, two fingers touching the center of his brows; light blinked and materialized, and I could feel his energy increasing.

Until he completed whatever he had up his sleeve, we couldn't get to Gohan. Heikan and Needo made sure of that. I watched with dread as whatever Heikan had pierced Gohan with, was draining him of his energy. We had to get to him; if they kept this up, he was going to die.

"Gohan!" I cried, unable to keep his name in my throat any longer. I pulled myself against Goku, trying to get closer to the ring. I didn't know if he was exerting all his might to keep me back, or if the adrenaline was surging pure defiance through my bones, but I managed to squirm and pull forward. I was close enough to see Gohan's head tilt for me, his green eyes locking on mine in weakened strain. The look on his face and the weight of emotions that bled from his eyes stunned me; I could feel my heart breaking with the fierce need to be beside him.

A minute was probably only all that passed from the moment he was jumped, but it felt like forever; the seconds dragged on in horrid disarray, like watching a car wreck in slow motion. _Hurry up, Piccolo! _I lost my breath when Gohan's golden form fell away to his normal state, his eyelids beginning close over pain-stricken eyes; his energy dropped to an alarming low.

_He's dying! _No, he couldn't die… I _was not_ going to watch him die right in front of me! Moisture obscured my vision of him, and I blinked away the tears in attempt to keep my sight clear, the idea of not seeing him just as unbearable as watching him dwindle away.

A faint boom and eruption of light shook the area; an orange and purple beam drilled into the dome's surface, shattering it; it fell away in limp tatters, and Piccolo didn't hesitate before charging into the hole and slamming Needo off of Gohan, and Heikan a fraction of a second later.

Goku's grip on me fell away, and I leapt up into the ring, falling beside Gohan's immobile body and crouching over him protectively as Needo and Heikan regained their footing. They looked at me, contemplating attacking again, but Piccolo's hovering presence didn't put the odds in their favor. I bared my fangs for good measure.

In a blink, they took off; I caught them going east, out for the ocean. After glancing down at me and Gohan, Piccolo wordlessly followed their trail. As to what would happen then, I didn't care; I tended to Gohan.

"Gohan," I murmured, taking his pale and clammy face in my hands, lightly slapping his cheek to wake him. Aside from being unable to find any energy spike, I couldn't even hear his heart. "He's not breathing! He's _not breathing_!" I shrieked in frenzied panic, and Vince was beside me in a breath. I moved out of the way as he began chest compressions. I noticed Goku had disappeared from the background; where the hell did he go? He couldn't have followed Piccolo after Needo and Heikan, and leave his son half-dead in front of hundreds of people?

The ring-side EMTs climbed into the ring, setting a stretcher down beside us. They tried ushering Vince out of the way, but he lashed with a "Stay the hell back!" and continued doing his work.

"Boy, let us do our job—!"

"He said back off!" I snapped irritably, giving a threatening glare to the head responder, who flinched back.

When the compressions alone weren't producing any improvement, Vince opened Gohan's jaw and breathed air into his mouth, interchanging between that and compressions. "Come on, brother…," I heard him plead in a murmur, his worried eyes flickering to Gohan's face, waiting for a change.

_Please, please wake up… _

After two more sets, I heard a sputter, and Gohan coughed the first breath he'd had in two minutes, and I let go of the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding; Vince exhaled a relieved sigh, leaning away to let him breathe.

Blinking, Gohan's eyes opened, and he immediately found me; I could feel my heart stitching back together. "Jordane," he rasped, but I didn't let him get another word out, shushing him.

"Just rest here a sec," I told him. He was still alarmingly pale, his heart weak; how long would it take him to recoup?

I certainly would not be very good at all this stuff if I was left to make the decisions; before the thought even crossed my mind, Goku had returned and knelt beside Gohan, bringing out that little green bean from a brown sack. He fed it to Gohan, who calmly chewed and swallowed it down. I waited anxiously, but it wasn't long at all before color returned to his face, his eyes were clearer, and he could sit himself up without hindrance.

"Damn," he sighed, hand resting over his chest where Heikan had stabbed him. His eyes found the EMTs, who gawked in disbelief at the miraculous revival they just witnessed. I could see in Gohan's face he was rather perplexed as to what all just transpired himself.

"That was close," he said.

"No shit." I was just so happy he was all right, that I just sat still, when I really wanted to hug him. The fact we were in front of hundreds of people kept that desire at bay. "Your heart stopped for two minutes," I squeaked, the reality of it still traumatizing, even though he was in front of me now, breathing.

Looking at me, Gohan smiled; a tender, assuring smile that made my insides burst. "Well, don't worry, it's working now." I punched him lightly in the arm for being a smart-ass.

"If Vince hadn't started CPR, you would have been dead for a lot longer…" With my short explanation, Gohan's eyes acknowledged Vince, who still sat on his knees beside him, smiling in relief.

"Thanks, bro."

"Don't mention it, kid," Vince assured him, patting him on the shoulder.

"Mouth-to-mouth wasn't included in your efforts to save my life, was it?" Gohan asked, and Vince's brow quirked humorously. "On second thought, never mind, I don't want to know," Gohan said, and Vince and I both snickered.

"Piccolo followed Needo and Heikan," Goku announced, after basking in the relief of the situation. "Let's get moving before they get too far."

Gohan was on his feet without another word; Vegeta and Krillin had joined us in the ring, and the crowd around us was nothing but an even roar of murmurs and clamor. Jeff stood at the stairs, just watching, unsure of when to interject.

"Well, here we go again," Krillin announced in a nervous sigh, gazing up into the sky.

"Krillin, you know you don't have to come with us. You have your family to think about, so you get a pass on this one," Goku assured his best friend, who smiled.

"Nah, I can never pass this stuff up, and leave you guys alone to fend for yourselves." He and Goku both chuckled, as if sharing an inside joke. Vince didn't say a word, nor did he look as though he was prepared to leave with them. Gohan faced me, the strange, overwhelming emotion from earlier dissipated to a very familiar sternness.

"Stay here and hold down the fort, all right?"

How in the hell did I know he was going to demand I stayed? Though it was unlikely to change his mind, I still futilely protested, "But I want to come with you and see what the hell is going on. I'll stay out of danger, okay?"

"Jordane…"

"Gohan, come on. Let me just come with you. If things get dicey, then I'll leave."

Judging by the sympathetically responsible smile he gave me, his resolve wasn't budging. In a sudden gesture, his hand rose to my face and tucked a stray lock of my bangs behind my ear. "Just stay. For me, please."

All I did was sigh haughtily, but he took that as a compliance. "I'll be back soon," he promised, taking off after his father and the others. The arena rumbled with surprised outbursts and cries from the audience, all pointing their cameras and phones to the skies where my friends took off. Jeff stuttered various promises and reasonable explanations to calm everyone—and not succeeding, for the most part.

Shepherded out of the ring, Vince and I returned to the entrance of the fighter's lounge while the tournament officials called a recess, excusing all of the patrons for a break to stretch their legs and wrap their heads around all that just happened. I leaned against the wall, fingers tapping irately against my folded arms, gazing up into the sky in the direction Gohan and the others went. I didn't like being left behind, missing out on any potential action the others would find. I wished I could be content in staying to do Gohan a favor, but alas, that's just not how my brain worked.

"You're going after them, aren't you?" Vince asked in an amusingly resigned drawl.

"Yep." I leaned away from the lounge wall, ready to lift myself into the air.

"Gohan's going to be pissed," he warned me.

"Yeah, well, at least he never stays mad at me for long." I heard him chuckle.

"Jordane." I turned to him; though his face was still alight with some humor, that expression slowly gave way to a concerned furrow in his brows. "Be careful. Speaking from personal experience…some of the shit that those guys come across, it isn't for the faint of heart."

I nodded somberly in respect for his advice, and then took off into the air, following the residual energy signals of the others. Once I reached the open air of sea, the distance would have been disorienting, if I didn't have those intangible signals to guide me. I would have enjoyed the scenery, too, but this was no time to be sight-seeing.

From out of nowhere, there was a major spike in Gohan's energy—not as high as it was back at the tournament, but still far higher than what was normal.

I must have covered another fifty miles of ocean until the cluster of energy signals were enough indication that I'd reached the destination; an expansive patch of island, made up entirely of dry rock and mountain protrusions. I could feel and hear, deep in the heart of the island, energy swells and the whirring sounds of blasts cutting through air. I headed for the commotion, landing behind some rocky outcrops when I arrived. The scene before me was madness; several tall, massive individuals similar to Needo—all pale-skinned, bulging with muscle—caught in an airborne dance of wits and prowess with Gohan and the others. Goku, Gohan, and Vegeta were masked in their Super Saiyan forms, flashes of gold streaking across the air above me. It was no surprise they were plowing through the minions with ease, but it seemed as though the bastards never stopped coming. Piccolo had his hands full, back-to-back with Krillin; both seemed to be holding their own well enough.

My broad spectrum of sight caught to a stray figure—Heikan, carrying the dark container that he stabbed Gohan with—sauntered near a cliff side that looked to have a deep, hollow entrance. Tip-toeing around, I snuck closer to investigate. As to where Needo was, I could only hope he was far away, or that Gohan did him in already.

Keeping quite a few yards between us, I followed him down into the slanted cave, keeping close to the walls and protruding rocks to hide myself. With a slanting hill, the toe of my boot kicked a pebble and sent it tumbling down. I froze, ducking behind the wall, hoping with each thud of my heart that I wouldn't be discovered. Listening carefully to Heikan's actions, he paused for a moment, but then returned to the task at hand; something clicked, and then hissed, like air escaping from a balloon. I peeked around the corner to take a look, and found my one and only opportunity to strike. Apparating behind him, I jabbed the back of his head with as much force as I could muster. It stunned him enough for me to kick him out of balance and send my foot to his face; he regained from that and came charging toward me with a frenzied grimace. I dodged out of the way quick enough, hitting him again with another blow to the gut.

Catching me off guard, the bastard apparated from my view and yanked on my ponytail, locking his arm around my neck before I could even peep a yelp of surprise. I focused my strength on driving my elbow into his ribs savagely, one strike after another, interchanging between that and kicking at his shins with my feet. The more I did this, the tighter his hold on my throat became, and my windpipe began to constrict. The corners of my vision started to seep white, and I was reminded of my duel with Needo back at the tournament—my near-death experience, the damned, terrible helplessness and inferior efforts on my part to escape him.

The fire in my belly reignited, and with a broken—but loud—yell, I used all my strength to strike Heikan's ribs one last time, and my elbow hit bone; under his flesh, I could feel a rib snap and crack. He grunted and stumbled back, just in time for his neck to be snapped so quick, if my eyes weren't trained enough to see the flash movement of hands, I wouldn't have been able to catch it at all. His body fell to the ground, and Gohan stood in his place. The blonde hair threw me off so much, I had to take a long look at him to be sure it was who I thought, though the general style of his hair resembled his normal 'do more than what I first saw at the tournament. His eyes may have been green, but they still scrutinized me with the same gawping disciplinary incredulousness.

I could see the question "What the hell are you doing here" in his eyes, but as if he reminded himself who he was talking about, he didn't follow through with the exclamation. Still, I guess he had to say something. "I can't believe you—!"

"Really? You can't?" I asked with a touch of sharp cynicism. He rolled his eyes, growling an exasperated breath.

"You need to leave, now!"

"The only way I'm leaving is if you drag me out of here." That was a dangerous bluff. He could easily overpower me and fly me back to the island, no matter how much of a fuss I made, but I had confidence that he wasn't going to leave his dad and the others to manage this mess, just to haul me back to safety.

"You're impossible," he grumbled, looking more frustratingly apprehensive than angry.

"Look who's talking," I retorted, smirking just a little bit to make my point. He didn't find it too amusing, but neither did he pursue the argument. We both turned our attention to the anomaly standing within the walls of the cave; rock was etched away to form a perfect arch around a wall of steel, a pair of rusted doors, and beside them, some sort of keypad system, in which the black container was connected through its needle. It remained suspended in that keypad; the symbols and buttons were nothing I'd ever seen. They were illuminated in yellows and greens.

"Why did he connect that container to the keypad, do you think?" I asked.

Gohan was quiet for only a brief moment, as he investigated around the keypad. "It's possible that whatever this is, it runs on energy." He turned his attention to the tall, vaulted doors; there was an even crack down the middle of those doors. "Let's give this a go," he muttered to himself, ejecting the container from the keypad; nothing about it changed. He pressed a random button—the biggest one in the center, colored green. Something rumbled; the doors screeched in protest, rust grinding in the gears and crevices. They hadn't been opened in quite a long time.

Once the doors were ajar far enough, the environment beyond them was alit with dim yellow light. And as soon as those doors opened, an invisible wave of intrigue flooded from their threshold. I felt an instinctual desire to move forward, as if my name had been called; it was so simple that I didn't put any thought to it at all. Just as I was about to lean in and take a closer look, Gohan's hand stopped me, one standing finger silently telling me to wait. I watched him as he slid through the narrow opening, somehow angling his muscular body in such a fluent, graceful way to fit through. He cocked and turned his head this way and that, searching thoroughly for anything that would pose a threat.

"All right, come on," he called, still in a gentle voice. As he did, I squeezed my body through the opened doors, sticking close to him once I was inside. The mysterious room turned out to be a massive lobby-like helm.

"Is this a spaceship?"

"Based off my experience, I'd say yes. None of these markings and graphics are like anything I've seen here on Earth." His bright eyes combed the unknown walls, almost in a predatory way; careful, calculated, and ready to attack. And of course, as he always did whenever I stared at him, his eyes found mine, but I didn't look away this time. He blinked once, and then again, and looked away.

"It's different, isn't it?" he asked gently, eyes still alert as we walked across crusted, filthy floors.

I didn't need him to elaborate on his question. "Even though I've seen video and pictures of you as a Super Saiyan, yeah, it is different, to actually see you like this in person." I took my eyes away from him, finally, and looked forward to navigate myself.

"Geez, how big do you think this place is?" I asked when we'd been hiking through channels of tunnels for what felt like a half hour. "Furthermore, how in the hell did the pilot or whoever hide it in this mountain without making an obvious change in the landscaping?"

"This ship looks like it's been here a while. More than a decade, judging by all the dust and dirt everywhere," Gohan noted, steering his ball of light toward the desecrated walls. Indeed, the place looked old; settled dirt, dust, moss, and ivy spread out in layers across the walls. "I'm sure there's another stretch to this mountain that has all the damage."

"That wall we came in, though, it looked like the rock was chipped away, as if someone has been using the ship the entire time it's been downed."

"Or discovered it recently and just made it more easily accessible for when they were ready to use it. That edges around those cut rocks were recent."

"So what, were Needo and Heikan aliens and they want to phone home? And the ship runs on Saiyan energy, so that's why they attacked you and harvested your energy…?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "It's a good theory."

Coming to a fork in the corridor, that deep feeling within my being grew stronger; I didn't know what to call it—curiosity, I suppose, but far more intense and more paranormal than my subconscious could understand. That pull drew me toward the left hallway, and Gohan followed without question. The hall was a slightly convex curve, with a single door at the end of the aisle. It was large and engraved with elegant runes, like it hid grand treasures behind its solid mass. Somehow, I could tell there was; a magnetic pull was still steering me toward the door, a different kind of sixth sense than what I came to know in my training.

I didn't give a second thought to it; I reached over and pressed a random button. As with the first doorway, this one opened slowly and with such heaviness, it rumbled the floor and screeched in its tracks. Beyond it lay a grand spread with rows of glass cases; encased in them were bizarre artifacts I could only imagine were from other planets, because they were all unrecognizable. It was a museum…or a trophy room.

That intangible draw kept me going, through rows and rows of cases, until I reached the very end of the room, where a circular bed of a stone-like texture stood ominously, in spite of only being four feet in height. There was just something about it that didn't feel right.

No, not the display itself, but what it held. It was caked in dust, but I could still make out the symbolic runes in its body, and little depressions of an odd rectangular shape; there were nine holders, but only two were occupied by trinkets of the same shape.

Brushing the objects of dust, the air around them seemed to grow warmer the closer my hand came to touching it; once I was holding one, however, it seemed to turn colder. My body fell cold with them, not from their physical temperature but because they were familiar to me in some way… The off-gold matter of their body, the cold heaviness, organic and foreign runes etched in the surface, all circulating around a gem that was bright blue in color. The other trinket was a mirrored object, except the gem was a slate green.

Gohan must have said my name three times before I heard the fourth time. But I didn't address him directly.

"I recognize these."

There was a long, silent pause. "What do you mean, you recognize them? You've never experienced anything beyond _loup-garou_ heritage, and you're saying you're familiar with this alien technology?"

"I know it sounds weird, but this looks almost exactly like an heirloom I have of my dad's, only it's on a chain, like a necklace and a little different in shape…totally different, actually. His was round, I think, and the gem is clear, almost pearl-colored, but everything else is spot on. Especially the feeling…"

"Feeling?"

"My mom gave me my dad's pendant as a way to remember him by, but I always hated holding it. It just always made me feel weird. I kept it in its special case for most of the time." For being the only physical object I had of my father's, I often forgot about the damn thing—at least, I tried to, with as peculiar as it was. It never seemed to bother my mom much; she barely even got emotional about it, but then again that's just her trying to be strong.

I still hadn't looked at Gohan, but he didn't let that deter him from the conversation. "Where is it?"

I sorted through disorganized images from the time period when we moved, looking for that dark cedar woodwork case and placing a location to it. "At home, in my closet somewhere. I didn't bother unpacking it."

A deep rumble disrupted my trance, and for the first time in that entire minute, I looked up from the odd trinket to find the walls around us shaking.

"That doesn't sound good," I peeped. Gohan's eyes scanned the area around us, just as a deeper, thunderous crash nearly shook us off our feet, and with it, a wailing alarm sounded through the halls of the ship.

"We need to go, now!"

I didn't hesitate; I grabbed the other piece of space treasure and stuffed them in the roomy chest of my gi top as I paced with Gohan out of the room and back down the hallways, the floor vibrating beneath us. Whatever was happening, I didn't care to linger and find out.

We turned down a random hall, and when there should have either been a door or a continued path, the haul of the ship abruptly ended, and in place of a wall of steel was a wall of rock. Still, we kept our feet going, our strides unrelenting even in spite of the earth-shattering tremors that consumed the space around us.

Gohan reached down and took my hand in his, shooting concentrated energy toward the dead end ahead; I braced myself, just as we lunged together for the solid barricade of mountain boulders. The heat of his energy enclosed around us, like a protective veil, as our feet left the ground and we fell into empty air only to soon smack against the liquid surface of water. Even once submerged, our hold on each other didn't let up; Gohan pulled us to the surface only for a brief instance before ducking back under the water as cindered debris fell into the water around us. His arms were protective barriers around me, including the energy shield he'd conceived around the both of us.

When the water finally seemed to settle some, we returned to the surface for air.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What the hell was that?"

We both gazed up at the mountainside that now had a gaping, smoking cavity, but Gohan was the one who offered an assessment on our latest brush with danger. "A self-destruct system… It could be activated whenever someone tampers with any of the treasures in that room."

Suddenly reminded of the trinkets, I quickly reached into my top and brought out the two pieces of space treasure. Now wet and cleaned, their colors and detail were vibrant.

"We need to find the others," Gohan muttered, more to himself than as an order to me. Nodding in agreement, I followed him into the air and around the island 'til we locked on to the low energy signals of the others. Turned out, Goku and Vegeta both had been drained of their energy, just as Gohan was; how so, I couldn't know. I suppose Heikan and Needo weren't the only ones carrying one of those containers around, then?

Thanks to the fresh bag of Senzu beans Goku brought back with him, he and Vegeta were both restored by the time Gohan and I had arrived. Piccolo and Krillin were both fine, save for a few gashes and cuts. Together, they slayed quite a few enemies, but a good handful still escaped—into "nowhere", Krillin had said.

"They couldn't have just vanished into thin air," I debated lightly.

"I don't know if it was thin air, but it was definitely something," Krillin insisted. "They just retreated behind a mountain peak where we couldn't see them, and then, poof! We couldn't find them—or their energy signals—anymore."

"Blasted cowards," Vegeta spat, arms crossed and face contorted in an irritated grimace.

"I can't believe they even got away," I randomly blurted, truly amazed that Goku and Vegeta weren't able to take all of them out.

Vegeta's ego was too bruised to admit to what Goku soon elaborated, "It wasn't long until they pulled out those things Heikan sapped Gohan's energy with, and then caught us off-guard. These guys, they have odd abilities—powerful."

"Telekenetic powers, at that," Krillin grunted in worry.

"That's how they were able to get the upper hand on us, soon after you left."

"Yeah, speaking of which, where did you two go, anyways?" Krillin then asked, directing attention on Gohan and I. He was efficient in answering promptly.

"There were ruins of a spaceship in that mountain over there. Jordane found Heikan sneaking around it, and he was able to activate the whole ship with my energy in that canister."

Suddenly, I found my voice. "And we found these." I revealed the two pieces of treasure, and everyone's eyes furrowed.

"Wow," Goku expressed, taking one and examining it. "I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot of hidden treasures in my day."

"It's alien," Gohan reminded him. "The spaceship has been here for a while. What really weird is that Jordane thinks an old possession of her father's is exactly like these things." Everyone's eyes were immediately on me then, prodding for further explanation.

"Where's this possession of your father's?" Vegeta demanded in his gruff tone.

"It's at my house," I answered shortly.

"We need to get it," Gohan insisted gently. "There goes the tournament," he then added humorously, turning to his dad. "Dad, we need you to take us to Jordane's. You take care of whatever needs to be back at the tournament."

Using Instant Transmission, Goku took Gohan and I to my house—a trip that would have normally taken hours, reduced to just the blink of an eye. How convenient it was. He didn't stay, and I didn't waste any time, as much as I wanted to greet my pets with more one-on-one time. Mom was gone; at work, most likely.

I took a beeline straight for my bedroom closet, rummaging through clothes and unpacked boxes with vague, useless labels until I finally felt it—the same reverberating sensation that guided me to the little box that could pass for your average jewelry box. I always thought it was merely just that—a jewelry box, and my father's amulet a mere piece of jewelry.

How silly that misconception appeared now.

Setting it on my bed, I slowly opened the top to reveal my father's pendant sitting in a bed of red velvet.

"Holy…" Before Gohan could even finish, I had brought out the other two objects, just to confirm what we were seeing. The resemblance between my dad's pendant and the two pieces we found was unmistakable, even if the shape wasn't the same as the other two. The body material was the same, the runes were the same… Just what the hell was my dad doing with one of these?

"Are you sure these aren't a part of Saiyan culture?" I asked quietly.

"We could always ask Vegeta, but I think his expression from earlier already gave us an answer—and that was 'no'."

_Well, shit, _I sighed. "Do you think it is any coincidence at all that Heikan and Needo were trying to get into that ship, with these in there?"

"Maybe the ship wasn't theirs; maybe they just wanted what was inside," Gohan mused, playing off my insinuation.

Just as I was about to sit down on my bed so we could brainstorm together, my attention was drawn back to my wet gi. Not the most comfortable ensemble to be wearing at the moment; I hated being stuck in wet clothes… "I should change," I mumbled to myself, going for my closet and grabbing the first T-shirt and pair of jeans I saw. Before I started stripping, I turned around to Gohan and cleared my throat, gesturing with my finger for him to turn around. He was so absorbed in figuring out the discs of treasure that it took him a moment to comprehend what I was asking; he turned his back to me without a word, holding my father's amulet in his hand to study.

Even with as comfortable as I'd become with him in the last month, I still made the act of changing into fresh clothes quick, not wanting to be naked for any amount of time longer than necessary. When I finished, I plopped down on my bed, picking up the disc with the green gem. Gohan remained as he was, analyzing my father's amulet, turning it around in his hands to look at every crevice. I was about to make a mental note on how broodingly handsome he was whenever he was concentrating, but this was no time to accommodate those silly thoughts.

We sat in silence like that for a half hour. I didn't know where Gohan was getting at, but I'd made a few notes about the treasure discs we'd found; the broader, round end tapered to a straight, rectangular angle, with an odd protrusion that was hollow inside. I thought perhaps this was so one could run a chain or string through to make into a pendant, like how my father's was.

Gohan found another theory.

Startling me with his curt movements, he reached down for the blue-gem disc and looked at it with my father's pendant, side-by-side. He turned them over, and before I could put it all together, he already spoke, "They're puzzle pieces." Setting my father's pendant down, he brought the other two discs close to it—not putting them together—but planting them in such a way that made it so obvious that they were indeed three pieces of a similar collection, and that there was a purpose to their build. Especially my father's pendant… It was so odd in shape; it had eight faces to it—an octagon—two faces of which Gohan had assigned the two discs to.

It'd been years since I really looked at my father's pendant, so I reached for it to drink in the details of it. When I turned it over, it made sense; underneath each face, there was a slot, the exact shape as the protruding ends of the other discs.

Then, it clicked.

"There's eight of those things," I murmured. "Together, they all fit like a puzzle."

"And your dad's amulet is the center-piece."

I was still and wordless, trying with all my might to absorb this; not necessarily the idea of it, but the weight of such a revelation. My father couldn't have just stumbled upon one of these. "What do you think they do?" I mumbled.

"If a band of thugs like Needo and Heikan were after them, I don't imagine they do any good."

"People always went after the Dragon Balls, though, didn't they? The Dragon Balls aren't evil or bad."

Sitting beside me, Gohan's brows were set in an even, somber line. "They may not have been created for evil, but when in the hands of bad people, the Dragon Balls can be devastating. Maybe these are the same. Not in the wish-granting sense, but whatever they can do, whatever makes them so valuable…it's not good if they fall in possession of ill-willed people."

I glanced down at the discs once more, as if staring at them long enough will make them divulge all of their secrets.

"Are you sure your mother never mentioned anything to you about your dad's amulet—why he had it, what it meant…?" Gohan prodded gently.

I sternly shook my head. "She never said anything about it, other than it belonged to him and meant a great deal to him. She didn't look weird when she said it either; she just got a little emotional, 'cuz it was his, you know."

He turned his attention to the box my father's pendant had been kept in over the last sixteen years, as if to find some label or indication that would offer another clue. There was nothing; no engravings, no runes, no notes… It was the most plain-looking box you could imagine, and maybe that's why my dad kept the pendant in there.

Sighing, Gohan rubbed his face with his hands, letting himself fall back on my bed. He didn't seem to care that his clothes were still damp, and neither did I. Taking the moment to stare at him now, I was shocked at how tired he looked, even in spite of having all his energy restored. He had mild circles under his eyes, and his eyelids looked heavy, as if they would close on him any second. He may have had all his energy restored, but mentally, he looked exhausted.

"I was hoping this would be just an isolated incident, but now, it's looking a part of something much bigger…" He scoffed. "And you're caught right in the middle of it, because of these damn things."

I didn't know how he expected me to feel; afraid? Maybe I was, just a little. I didn't know what these beings wanted with my father's pendant and the other discs, I didn't know what they could do, but I had the palliative confidence that whatever was going on, Gohan would eliminate it.

I let myself lay down across the bed next to him, the top of my scalp touching his temple. His heart grew heavier in palpitation, and thus put an uptick in my own heartbeat. "Everything will still be okay, won't it?" I asked gently, staring up at my ceiling that had glow-in-the-dark stars pasted above my bed.

"We may never find out what these things really are, and we have enemies that have the ability to disappear in the blink of an eye with no trail. I'd say so far, the odds aren't starting off in our favor."

"We can figure it out together." I said this in such heartfelt honesty; I wanted him to know I believed it, and that he should believe it, too.

"No," he suddenly retorted, his voice still soft in volume but graver in tone. "You aren't getting any more involved in this."

"I don't think either of us have a choice in the matter," I argued. "My father's pendant is one of these things, that makes me involved, regardless!"

Gohan snapped forward and off the bed, glaring me down. "Trust me, you do not want to be involved. What happened with Needo and Heikan today is just the tip of the iceberg. You have no idea how bad it can get."

I didn't know why I went ahead and said something so stupid, "I saw footage of the Cell Games; I have an idea of how bad it can get."

As soon as those ignorant words left my mouth, Gohan scoffed—a critical, disdainful sound of insult that I'd never heard from him before. "So you saw some footage. That gives you _barely_ an idea of what goes on in these battles. It shows you _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. It doesn't show you what it feels like to be tortured, to have every fiber of your being hot with crippling pain to the point you wish you would just die already. It doesn't show you an inkling of how it feels to see those you care about being tortured—and even killed—right before your eyes, while you're helpless to stop it. You have no idea what it's like to be faced with an _impossible_ decision, and having to live with the consequences of a judgment call you made on the spot.

"I know you want something more out of life, Jordane, I know you want freedom from the ordinary, but this life is _not_ freedom! You are a _prisoner_ of it! Hell, just look at me! I hate this life—it puts me in danger, it puts those I love in danger, it shatters any possibility I could have had to ever lead a completely peaceful life, but I still go running into battle at the moment's notice like a loyal hound-dog being called by the dinner bell!"

His distraught, angry eyes burned at the back of my skull as he continued to reel out his dismay on me. This was the first time I'd ever seen his wrath, and been on the other side of it—at least, to such a degree. The haughty, stubborn Gohan I butted heads with months ago paled in comparison to the desperately agitated soul before me.

"You know _nothing_!" he roared, his face totally contorted in a snarling mask of penalizing severity. "So quit thinking that nothing I have faced in my life could possibly faze you! Stop acting so damn brave for the sake of your pride! Do you have any idea how ignorant you sound when you do that?! When you act so blasé about getting mixed up in all this crap, in spite of how I've told you it affects me?"

I never did bother to think of what I must sound like, but neither did I think my curiosity and intent on being unshakable would be so offensive to him.

"I'm sorry," I quietly said, making sure my voice wouldn't waver. "I never meant to offend you like that. I just wish you would stop being so hysterical about keeping me from even witnessing some of this when it really isn't your decision to make. If I'm going to see it, I'm going to see it; if I choose to let it be in my life in some shape or form, it's going to happen." I tried to be as assertive yet sympathetic as I could, not wanting to upset him any more than he already was.

He started shaking his head. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

I joined him on the floor, striding right up to him. "So, you want to remain friends and stay in each other's lives, but at the same time you are willing to do anything in your power to keep me away from any and all dangers… Where does that leave us, huh?" He didn't answer me. I couldn't quite tell if it was a good or bad sign. "I don't need protecting."

"From this, you do," he debated, glaring me down still.

"I wouldn't need protecting if you just trained me—"

"What did I tell you when I first took you in?! That is _not_ going to happen!"

I retorted by getting up in his face, defiant and determined. "Why the hell not?! Whether or not I can take it is not up to you, and besides, wouldn't it be better if I was trained to deal with things like this should I need to, instead of just avoiding it until my luck runs out?"

He didn't have an answer for that one, and he hated it. It was like he _wanted _to find something to shoot my point down with—anything, even if it wasn't true.

I was tired of fighting, of trying to be one step ahead of him; even when I was right, he would never let me win a debate.

"Gohan, come on," I pled, my voice dropping to a softer plight. "How much more of this do we have to go through?"

"As many times as it takes for it to get through your thick skull," he grumbled, his brows furrowing.

"I have the thicker skull out of the two of us, remember?" I smirked, inching my hand closer to his, just enough 'til my fingers could entwine with his. He looked down at our hands, and closed his eyes.

"Jordane…"

"Stop. Just stop overthinking all this and go with what you feel," I begged. "You and I, we both know something more has been much going on here, no matter how hard we've been fighting it."

"I will _not_…"—he jerked his hand from mine, stepping away with torn eyes, as if relinquishing from my touch was sheer pain—"…put you in harm's way, all because I wanted to keep you close for my own sake."

"I want you to keep me close," I insisted quietly, undoing the two foot distance he'd put between us.

"Do you not get it?" he growled. "Being close to me gets people hurt or killed."

"That's a risk for me to decide, not you. I may not be familiar with this life as you are, but I believe it won't be as awful as you think." I truly did believe it. Maybe that was just my ignorance talking.

"You're a lot of things, Jordane, but I never took you for a naïve optimist."

"It's called having a little faith. Maybe I am being stupid and naïve, all I know is that I at least want a chance to take a ride around the block, and decide for myself if I can hack it. Besides, I don't want what makes you such a strong, wonderful person to be the thing that ends up keeping us apart."

I just couldn't imagine it; going back to living my boring, ordinary life far away from him, never knowing how he is, if he survived a battle, if he had anyone there for him afterward… Not having him to call mine.

Hanging his head, Gohan groaned. "I hate it when you say things like that." When he looked at me, his eyes gave away his vulnerability.

"Why?" I already had an idea of the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"Because…it makes it so damn hard for me to keep saying no. It's unfair."

The door seemed to thrust open, the door for that one opportunity that'd been lingering around us for weeks; my heart jolted upon my impulsive decision to go through that door. I closed the distance between us, letting my nose touch his chin. His heavy breaths swathed my face, such an intimate sound and feeling, I lost my own breath.

Gohan began to shake his head, gently, to the point it was barely moving to begin with. "This isn't a good idea…"

"I don't care," I whispered. "I don't care what you think is wrong about this, because I know it's right."

"Just because we want something doesn't mean it's right or good for us," he murmured against my forehead.

"What could possibly be wrong about how we feel for each other? And don't you dare say because it could put me in danger, that's a bullshit excuse."

"It's anything but bullshit," he argued, his breath growing harsher.

"Pushing me away because you're afraid I'll get hurt over something you can't even control is bullshit." I glared up at him. "I appreciate your concern for me and your determination to keep me from harm, but please, _please_ don't push me away," I pled, my voice so obstinate yet so desperate at the same time, even I had a difficult time deciding which I was. I'd never begged like this with anyone, but I might as well have been on my damn knees. I was so damn tired of pretending, of having to suppress something that was natural to me.

So, I tilted my head ever more so closer to him, stretching 'til my lips touched his chin, and, to my intense delight, his head tilted down, just enough for his nose to touch the tip of my lips. My breath caught.

"Jordane…," he sighed, such a helpless, beautiful sound, it took everything not to let my knees go weak on me. I began to lean more upward, and he was leaning, too, subtly.

In a heart-sputtering, delicious moment, we shared breath, just before that breathing room closed when our lips touched.

I couldn't tell which one of us closed the gap first, but neither did I care. I was aware of nothing else—only us, and the wordless poetry of this moment. The warmth and softness of his lips against mine, even for as shy and unfitting as they were, was so intimately simple, it still took my breath away. His breath escaped his nostrils in bursts against my face; I didn't even know if I was breathing. Upon the thought, I forced myself to exhale just to be sure.

His lips may have been soft, but his mouth was taut, restrained. No, why couldn't he just lose control for once? Deep down, neither of us were tame creatures; not even he, in his quiet, collected exterior. He had a beast inside him, just like me.

I wanted to explore that; with as much as we've opened up to each other, I didn't want us to keep anything more from one another, not anymore. I just wanted to feel whatever this was, and I wanted him to feel it with me.

"Jordane!"

I flinched, disengaging from the kiss in the process, when that familiar voice rang out in the house.

"Gohan!"

Chichi?

Gohan and I finally looked at each other, our hearts pumping in unison from being startled. Well, that couldn't take all the credit. Our hearts had been racing long before there was anybody in this house but us.

He almost looked frazzled for a reason, as if he just awoke from a deep trance. As much as I didn't want to, I turned on my heel and left for the living room. My mother sounded pissed, so I knew this couldn't be good.

Sure enough, I got to the stairs, and there was Chichi, Goku, and my mother. Chichi looked confused, Goku was nervous, and Mom was teetering on that very fine line between appalled, pissed, and relieved.

There was a tense silence for a long minute before my mom lunged for me and hugged me—like, the suffocating, tight mother bear hug.

She and I hadn't hugged in years.

Once she let go, her relief disappeared and in place of it came anger. "Jordane Marie Teague, what in the _hell_ did you do?!"

She found out. Somehow, she found out I was at the tournament. _Shit_.

Her angry eyes went from me to Gohan, who was right behind me. "I trusted you… Both of you!" She turned on Goku, who looked guilty for some reason, even though he had nothing to do with mine and Gohan's little scheme. "I trusted you with my daughter, and you went behind my back! _You_ went behind my back," she turned back to me, "when you promised you wouldn't get mixed up in that shit again!"

"Mom, calm down," I tried to soothe, rather that butt heads with her, but she proved quickly that wouldn't work.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Do you have any idea what a _fucked_ _up_ way this was for me to find out that my daughter not only lied to me, but she was in danger as well?!"

Danger? My expression must have communicated my confusion. "I was on break at work when I saw it on TV," Mom said in a voice strangled by dismay. "They had that Martial Arts Tournament broadcast on the TV in the break-room and I saw you, with that brute. I saw everything he did to you! By the time it was over, I thought you were _dead_!" she screamed in outrage, tears collecting in her eyes.

I didn't know what to say. Obviously, I never meant for this to happen—for my mother to find out this way. It's a good thing we didn't bring her there after all. "I'm sorry," I said, the words almost choking me. "I didn't mean for you to find out like that—"

"Were you ever going to tell me?!"

"Yes, yes, I was, but at the right time, so that you wouldn't be mad—"

"Mad?! I am _beyond_ mad, there are no words that possibly describe what I am feeling right now!" I had never seen her this furious, so distraught. I didn't know where to start, what to say in order to turn this into a better situation.

"I didn't do it to spite you, Mom! You have no idea what it's like for me, to have all these abilities and all this power and not have a freaking clue how to control it or use it!" I had to raise my voice above hers, the only way I could make sure I was heard. "I was going to blow one of these days, and it wouldn't have been far off at all, if Gohan hadn't offered to help me! He trained me so that I could finally learn to control my Saiyan abilities, so that I wouldn't be a grenade itching to go off. We were using the Tournament as a final test to check my ability of control."

With this, my mom finally looked back at Gohan, her eyes still wide and harsh.

That was when he had his say. "My parents had nothing to do with this; it was my idea."

What? "No, it wasn't—"

"I encouraged it, and I started everything by taking you under my wing to help you gain control of what you are. It was only a matter of time before we had to take the next step for training, which involved you staying with me." His eyes were glazed over with something appallingly odd, his brows set straight and low over them. Submission. I'd never seen him submit to anyone or anything; the idea was absurd to me. I'd seen him glare in cocky defiance just hours ago, now his belly was scraping the ground, taking the total fall for something everyone had a part in.

"I was doing this to help her."

"Was letting her get beat within an inch of her life by a fucking out of control monster your way of helping her?!" my mom shrieked, but it was her words, not her tone, that made Gohan flinch.

"Mom!"

"You have to understand, I didn't mean for that to happen. There hasn't been an incident like that at a tournament in…years." He was treading carefully, knowing any one word taken the wrong way could spark my mother's temper once more.

"And you're used to dealing with 'incidents' like that, I take it? How come there was no mention of your little hobby of martial arts when I was introduced to you!?" Mom glared at both Goku and Gohan now, eyeing them down, as if to squeeze an answer out of them.

For the longest minute, there was a stiff silence—a silence that preluded a long story. Gohan and Goku glanced at each other wordlessly. "Well?" Mom prodded, growing even more impatient. She deserved an explanation, and I knew Gohan would give it to her.

"You may want to sit down," he advised her. Although worried and disgruntled, she followed his advice and half-perched herself on the bar-stool at the kitchen counter.

And he proceeded to tell her everything.

He started at Goku's martial arts background, how he came to be the Earth's defender, when they discovered what they were—Saiyans—and how early of an age Gohan was forced to train… When he got to the Cell Games, something clicked in Mom's memory.

"You were a part of that shit?"

I directed my eyes to her, shocked. "You remember that?" I asked.

"Well, sure, but it was just a bunch of bullshit." Mom paused, scoffing. "At least, we thought it was."

Then he got to the part that he was the one who defeated Cell and saved the earth—at the dainty age of eleven. That she had a problem with, but she didn't take it out on him; she turned to Goku for that one.

"What the hell kind of father are you to toss your eleven-year-old son into a war that even grown men should be fighting?!"

"My point exactly," Chichi quietly murmured, eyeing her husband with a residual criticism I felt had been there for a long time.

"He had no choice in the matter, and neither did I," Gohan elaborated, which surprised me a little. He didn't linger on the subject too long. "I could tell Jordane was in need of guidance, that she had no control or even an awareness of her abilities and the damage she could do with them if I left her alone."

Suddenly, something in my mom's eyes came together, like a memory, and I knew she was thinking back to all those times in school when I lost my temper and hurt another kid by punching them or expelling my powers upon being picked on or bullied. Good. Hopefully that would make her listen to what Gohan had to say.

"I felt it was my responsibility, for the safety of the school and for her, to teach her just how to control her abilities to the point she wasn't a ticking time bomb ready to go off every single day. That was all I intended to do." He was so genuinely apologetic and formidable, he wasn't just some teenage delinquent mixing up a story to explain away a lapse in judgment. My mom had to believe him.

And she did. I could see it in her eyes; she felt his honesty and intentions, took his words to heart. Still, there was a punitive edge there. "I appreciate you giving my daughter a hand of guidance. I do _not_ appreciate, however, you lying to me, coaxing her to lie to me, convincing me to let her stay with you at your house for the wrong reason, and then getting her involved in something she is better off without!" The fear was apparent in her eyes now—the residual fear, I could imagine, from when she saw me getting my ass kicked on TV.

My face felt hot. Back and forth my emotions were tugged—between feeling remorse and guilt for my mother's distress, and being angry at her for placing so much blame on Gohan. I wanted to speak up, but couldn't.

Gohan hung his head at a slight tilt, his mouth set in a taut frown, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I don't care what good you think you've done for her…I don't want either of you"—she jabbed a finger between Gohan and Goku—"around my daughter _ever again_."

My head spun so quick toward her, I was surprised it didn't fly off my shoulders. "What?! Mom, you can't do that!"

"I can, and I have every right to!" she stormed at me. "I will not tolerate this! It'd be one thing if you orchestrated this whole thing yourself and lied to everybody, but Gohan not only encouraged you in all this, he had a hand in it! You almost got yourself killed because of him!"

My mouth dropped, my heart sunk, and though I wished I didn't, I looked over at Gohan. He was stone-faced, gawking at my mother. He was hard to read; it was an expression I'd never seen on him before. That wasn't good.

"Debb, I assure you, Gohan never meant to put her in any harm," Chichi intervened, her shrill voice stern and even. "Though I agree he shouldn't have concocted this plan with her behind _all_ our backs, I know for a fact the last thing he wanted to do was put her in danger."

"It still doesn't change the fact that she _was_ put in danger." My mom argued, dropping her tone to a calmer, less punitive octave. "I don't want my daughter anywhere near that chaos."

"Mom—!"

"You're right."

I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at Gohan. The expression from before morphed into a calmer, resigned mask that scared me even more. "I never meant for any of this to happen, but because it did, it serves me a reminder of what I needed to do weeks ago. Jordane's training is done. She can function and go about her daily life without her powers getting out of her control. Therefore, there's no more reason for her to be around me."

"What?!" I snapped. "Gohan you can't be serious—!"

"What's done is done, Jordane." He faced me now—not fully, but just a tilt of the head in my general direction, with eyes shielded by a cold sheet of harshness. I recognized that look, only it was far more intense than the last time I saw it. "That was the plan, remember? As soon as your training was done, you'd go your own way, I'd go mine. There's no reason for that to change."

I was overcome with the sickening desire to be alone with him—for the sake of carrying on this conversation in private. I didn't want to continue debating about this with my mom standing right there…especially since she was just adding fuel to his fire.

"Gohan, don't… What about all we've been through?"

He glared at me, as if he wanted to burn me with his eyes for bringing it up. "It didn't mean anything, Jordane. What we experienced happened, and it's over now. It could never go anywhere, I knew this, and you should have known this."

My body fell cold, my heart dropping to the pits of my stomach. I wanted to lash out at him for saying something so callous, but I couldn't find my voice. So I just stood there, gawking.

His stare didn't let up. Neither did his words. "We both let ourselves lose focus over these last few weeks," he admitted, unashamed but critical. "Before we cross the line any more, this needs to stop. Your mother is in the right here, you have no business getting involved in my world, and it was a lapse in judgment on my part to so much as entertain the idea of you playing around in some aspects of my world while on the other hand expecting to keep you safe from the dangerous things." There was a pause, until he found more words to drive the invisible stake further into my heart. "You and I don't fit together—our worlds, our lifestyles… None of it fits. You don't belong in my world, and I don't belong in yours. Let's just leave it at that and go our separate ways."

_Submissive_, _cold_, _insensitive_, _asshole_, were the words that spun in my head. Not because I bought his robotic speech, but because I knew him better, I knew why he was saying these things—when we were sharing our first kiss in the other room just moments ago. Maybe he did believe all these things, that our worlds had no business mixing together, that we didn't belong together in any aspect, but he was so close—so close—to just accepting his feelings for me and my feelings for him, until my mother had to come barging in… And now there he was, riding on her coattails, submitting like a whipped dog with his tail tucked… He wasn't _fighting_ _for me_, and that was what made my heart wrench and ache.

The death glare I gave him conveyed all that I felt—anger, betrayal, disappointment—and to my astonishment, he actually looked away from me to stare at the ground, unable to handle the weight of my eyes.

"Thank you for owning up to this, Gohan," my mother admired, her tone remaining strict and grave. "And for agreeing with me. Hopefully that will make it easier when Jordane and I go back to Washington."

Another blow straight to my chest, making air harder to acquire.

"Jordane, go pack your things."

I finally looked back at my mom, quizzically. "All of my stuff is back at the tournament, Mom…?"

"Okay, then have Goku take you to get it, then come home and pack." She said this so sharply, as if I should have known what was going on and not demand an explanation.

"Why?"

"We're going home—to Washington!" she snapped impatiently.

"Right _now_?! No, we can't—!"

"We have the money, our house is sitting empty waiting for us, now let's go. Don't argue with me!"

I laughed—a harsh, cynical scoff. "You do realize that whatever they protect the world from could—is—still going to get to us in Washington? Going there won't make us safe—!"

"I want you far away from them!" Mom roared, pointing to Gohan specifically. I almost wanted to slap her hand out of his face.

"Debb, aren't you overreacting a little…?" Goku tried to intervene, but no luck, as my mother turned and glared at him. He sunk back. A mother scorned was not a force he trifled with.

I was surprised to see my mother's eyes, for once in a long time, shimmering gold with antagonism. "Don't you tell me I am overreacting…after I just saw my child nearly beat to death on the fucking television, at an event you and your son got her into! Just because you are perfectly fine throwing your child into danger and watching him endure Luna knows what, does not mean I, or any sound-minded parent for that matter, will feel the same!"

That was a hit below the belt; Goku's brows furrowed, his mouth tight. Not quite anger, but exemption, an expression of self-defense mode. It was even too much for Chichi, who eyed my mother with an unfriendly edge.

"Listen, Debb," she spoke up, her voice severe. _Oh great, this is going to be hairy. _"My husband may be an eccentric man, but he is not a terrible father! He never _throws_ our son into danger, and he certainly does care about what happens to him!"

"I'm sure Goku is a great dad, but any parent that raises their child in a dangerous environment as that, has a few screws loose!" Chichi's jaw dropped, flinching as if she'd been slapped.

My mom's tirade continued, "You two may be fine with your son being the savior of the world, risking his life for something you believe in, but I am not going to allow my daughter to drink that poison with him!"

_Stop, just stop! _

"I'll take you and Jordane back to the island to get her things," Goku said, obviously trying to diffuse the animosity of the situation, but the fact he caved in, as well, made me lose all hope. Mom's wide eyes finally addressed him, and she nodded stiffly.

"Thank you," she breathed, taking great lengths to calm herself. It took a good minute or two for the fuming gold in her eyes to dissipate. For a moment, I thought her and Chichi would get into it bad; even her eyes were looking a tad lighter from the clawing mother wolf inside rising to the occasion to protect her mate and cub's honor.

My mother wasn't going to let me go back to the tournament by myself; she hitched a ride with us when Goku teleported us back to the island, right in front of the hotel, where everyone lounged in the outdoor courtyard. When Mom saw Amanda, Sara, and the others, she gawped at me, and then Gohan, who was quick in explaining how they got there. Her brow inclined a little, just before asking, "So you thought to fly her friends all the way down here, and yet you continued to leave me out?"

I wasn't in the mood to explain; I just stormed off for the hotel room, and I could feel Gohan keeping pace behind me. When I went to open the door, it was locked. I didn't have the key card, but he did; once he swiped it—making sure not to get too close to me—I pushed the door in and quickly slammed it, right in his face. He didn't come in, not even as I was getting ready in a furious whirlwind of ire, stuffing my clothes in the duffle bag furiously, throwing and chucking things that didn't go in smoothly or orderly. Behind my eyes, the memory of that kiss replayed; the residual feeling of Gohan's lips on mine still burned, the restrained preciousness of that moment so delicate and evanescent, it hurt now more than it brought me joy.

The back of my throat burned with the will to keep an enraged yell locked inside, and the sheer effort to keep the urge to cry pushed deep down. A part of me kept asking 'why?'. Deep down, I knew why this was happening, and there was nothing I could do to stop or reverse it. Gohan wouldn't change his mind, no matter what I said.

I should have wanted to keep fighting, to keep finding reason and explanations to trump his, but I was tired. I had no more energy left in my mind to fight, to keep trying to keep one step ahead, to always bicker and implore for something I wanted when others had no intentions to ever let me have it.

Amongst my hazed packing, my eye caught the white rose Gohan gave me last night, in a clear vase on the nightstand between our beds. The symbolism of it left a bitter taste in my mouth and a twisting ache in my chest.

In a fleeting moment of anger, I reached over and slapped the vase over, and it tumbled onto the floor, water spilling, and the rose peeped a delicate snap. Throwing my bag strap over my shoulder, I stormed out of the room, leaving Gohan to pack his own things. Safe to say he and the others would be withdrawing from the competition, and Hercule Satan would get to keep his championship title for another year.

I met my mother and Goku in the courtyard outside the hotel, where my friends and pack congregated by benches and tables. By the time I got there, they surrounded me in a circle. Amanda and Sara and the others were the first to get to me, hugging me and expressing how relieved they were that I was up and moving already. They were all surprised, as well, but I wasn't in any mood to go over what happened. Then Vince and the others were next; the girls all gave me a squeeze. Renea asked me quietly, "Are you leaving?" I merely nodded dreadfully. I could see the question in her eyes: Where was Gohan? I just shook my head.

"Don't know when I'll see you guys next," I mumbled, squeezing Renea's hand.

"We can still talk," she encouraged, smiling that sweet, loving smile to lift my spirit in any way she could. "Call me when you land back in Washington."

I received hugs and squeezes from each and every one of my pack brothers and sisters, who all insisted this would not be the last time we would be together.

Amanda, Sara, and the rest of my human friends returned to my house with me as Goku teleported us back. They tried to make light of the situation, expressing how much they loved the size and features of my 'new' house—of which I wouldn't be living in after tomorrow.

Before I got to packing, my mom sat me and all the girls down to give us the sternest, most punitive pep talk to date. Some of the girls told their parents they were coming to Japan to watch me compete; others just packed up and went. Mom was going to make sure those parents knew about it, which made me cringe. If only she knew just how mental some of my friends' parents were…

She saved me for last, raving even further about how appalled and betrayed she felt with me over all this. It was all just irate noise to me; in one ear, out the other. I was too numb to care about or hear anything other than Gohan's words. My head was sluggish in processing all this even still.

After Mom's rant was over, the girls helped me go through my things and pack. We wouldn't be leaving until morning, so it was like the sleepover I'd been wishing for—under different circumstances. Mom spent most of the night on the phone talking with Bulma Briefs, who offered her company's private jet to us for free to fly back home. She would take over ownership of the house, as well, once we sent her the deed to the property. That didn't lift up my spirits any, although my friends made several attempts to help pull me out of my hopelessness. It was funny; back at the tournament, all Sara and Ashlyn wanted to do was talk and ask me about Gohan—but now, he was non-existent in the conversation. Not that it mattered; he was already on my mind.

We ended up laying down my comforter and other blankets on the floor, watching _Seinfeld_ reruns. In my peripheral, I noticed how Amanda always kept an eye on me. She didn't seem as tense as she did the entire time at the tournament, but her constant eyeing of me was confusing. Perhaps she was relieved I was coming back home? The thought should have made me feel good, but I was in too much of a sour mood to let it comfort me. _She sure hasn't seemed to miss me these last few weeks; would have thought Carly would continue to keep her company enough for her to push me to the side completely. _

Ah, I couldn't think like that… What, did I honestly expect her to not find someone new to hang out with and fill the void my absence left? _Stop taking things so damn personal. _

For the rest of the night, my mind veered off to deliberate some more, simply asking the question, "Can I get out of this?"

I didn't have to go with my mom. Hell, I could fly to Gohan's house right then and there and stay; I knew Goku and Chichi wouldn't turn me away. Or hell, I could stay with Renea. My mom wouldn't leave without me so she'd stay in Japan; that way, I could live my life independently, but not worry about her being too far.

But could I really do that? Could I damage my relationship with my mother to that extent by running away and practically emancipate myself from her?

Or…I could just move back here when I turned eighteen, if we were going to indeed stay back in Washington. On the other hand, who knew what would happen in that two year gap… Gohan could completely forget me at that point, erase me from his life…or he could find someone else. _No, he wouldn't. If he won't accept having me in his life for the sake of what he does for a living, he sure as hell wouldn't settle down with a human or another she-wolf. _

Either way, the whole situation just seemed hopeless.

And what of my father's pendant? I refused to let it leave my side, although having it in close proximity made me sick to my stomach… Or was it just this whole fiasco today that left me feeling ill? Hell, maybe I'd never know. Maybe it was all just a coincidence that similar replicas of my father's amulet were found in the very ship our enemies were breaking in to.

Funny thing, though…I never believed much in coincidences.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: BAM. New chappie. First kiss included ;) **

**Now, I know I mentioned in the last chapter that I would be writing my butt off to get a good running start in my chapter amount before I started posting again… Well, sadly, I haven't gotten near as far as I would have liked to, but I went ahead and posted this chapter now because I realized how unfair it was for me take a posting hiatus to write a good bunch while leaving you guys on such a cliffhanger like the last chapter. So here ya go! Hope this can tide y'all over for a little bit! **

**I know I don't really owe anyone an explanation, but I'd like to be up front with you—my readers—as to why I have not been writing up a storm. First thing, I finally got a job as an Animal Care Tech in our local Humane Society, so that's been keeping me on my toes and quite occupied. But the biggest reason I haven't been in my writing mojo is more on a depressing note. On Halloween night, my older cousin and her 7-year-old daughter were hit by a drunk/high (possibly both) driver while out trick-or-treating. My eldest cousin has a few broken bones and is recovering, but her daughter passed away. She had severe head trauma/brain swelling, in addition to a severed spine, and after multiple tests it was determined she was completely brain dead, so she was taken off life support a couple days after the accident. **

**This is not the first time I've lost a family member, but it is a first experience of such tragic circumstances, and someone so young. I am very close to my eldest cousin and her daughter, so I've been an emotional basket-case for weeks, along with the rest of my family. **

**But I am back to writing now, even if it's not in great spurts. **

**I can never say this enough, but thank you so, so much to all of you for reading and reviewing even in my long absence. I may not be very prompt with responses or updates, but every time you guys leave a review, it kicks up and revives my motivation to get my tired ass back to work! **

**-A reply to No Name/fan no.1 (I'm assuming you're the same person, your reviews are very similar in speech structure lol) : I very much appreciate your last review on the chapter before this. It is very humbling and gratifying for me to think that people enjoy my work to such a degree to the point they re-read and revisit my fanfic often. I love to blend the DBZ universe with that of our real world, in the sense that I try to convey situation and emotions we all experience in our every day lives; the world the characters experience, the lessons they learn and the way they grow is all something I strive to convey with a purpose. And I'm glad you've become such a fan of "my" Gohan lol! ;) Thank you very much, my dear! :) **

**Until next time, everyone! Much love! **

**- J**

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	38. 37: Ghosts

**37. Ghosts**

**June**

**_Gohan_**

Yet another day spoiled by the acrid mood my dreams had set me in the night before.

Jordane went back to Washington three days ago, but even still, waking up to her absence in my house every morning since then was alienating—it felt wrong. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to miss her, to not miss hearing her voice or seeing her bedraggled hair and tired smile first thing when I woke up.

I understood her mother's fury with me, and I not only agreed with her to uphold what dignity I had left, but to sever my ties with Jordane—something I should have done weeks ago. No matter how frantically I kept telling myself it was for her own good, that I was doing her a favor, I found my self-loathing intensifying with each word I said—each word that I could tell cut her beyond comprehension. Once I went inside our hotel room to get my things after she'd left, I saw the white rose I'd given her lying on the floor with a broken stem, my resolve felt snapped along with it. She had to hate me...

Good. The angrier she was, the sooner she could learn to forget me and move on with her life.

My focus was so scattered, it's no wonder the last few days had been grudgingly unsuccessful in tracking Needo and the other survivors of the raid on the island. Scouting the skies wasn't getting us anywhere, so today, I gave it a go in wolf form. That way, my life energy would stay low enough to remain undetected, and I would be dark and swift against the thick canvas of the forest.

Today just may be the lucky day. I found Needo and a little band of strange-looking little creatures in armored suits hiking down the steep cliff-face of the mountain, headed deep into the canyon. I kept my breathing quiet as I stalked them, sauntering on all fours, the moist soil concealing my already quiet footsteps. They didn't talk amongst each other, but I would find out what they were up to soon enough, when they reached a warehouse nestled on the canyon floor below, hidden in trees. Its presence there was surprising.

Sure enough, that's where Needo and his little minions snuck into, going straight through the main doors. I lingered outside waiting for any more activity, listening in. Sounds of metal screeching on metal, tools whirring and screaming; the smell of burning metals and exhaust… This cocktail of sensory information only baited my curiosity.

Spotting a window, I made my way for it, scaling the walls easily with enough momentum to rest on a railway balcony. The old windows were caked in grime and dirt, so I wasn't able to make out anything too distinctive, except for the flashes of cinders and machinery. The warehouse was expansive; it was one large room, and every square inch of it was occupied. I could make out large pieces of machinery, and tall individuals—shockingly tall and massive in size.

What in the world did all of this have to do with what happened at the tournament? It was hard to say since I couldn't see anything distinct, but it's possible Needo and Heikan's oval-shaped weapon in which harvested my energy came from here.

Leaves rustled, making me jump back to find a sentry patrolling the perimeter of the building, also dressed in a strange armor. He didn't see me yet. A shiver coursed down my spine, my hackles standing on end with the rising instinct to attack. I shadowed him for a few more steps until we had reached a side of the factory that had no windows…and I pounced, my clawed hands driving his face into the earth, and ripping away at the armor helmet that covered his head. My jaws locked around his neck, and I jerked violently, severing his spinal cord with a sharp _snap_.

Something unpleasant lingered in my mouth. Pulling back, the 'blood' was black, and unlike any other blood, it wasn't sweetly tangy, but bitterly acidic. Very different from Needo and Heikan, who didn't bleed at all.

I dragged the lifeless body into the bushes, scouting the building for entrances and escape routes. Having mapped it all out, I got into position on the roof, where skylights would be my way in. As to whether I would need to change into my regular form—or go Super Saiyan—I would find out soon enough.

Leaping to give myself enough air between me and the window, I dived through the glass, landing softly in a whirlwind of noise and flashes and chaos. I attacked the first mass I saw, and then the next, ripping throats with my fangs, beheading skulls from spines with a swipe of my talons, and plowing entire figures down with the sheer force of my body.

Many fled—a majority of those working on machinery. There were dozens of little minions that flanked Needo swarming in from the back of the factory. Little imps. It was nothing for me to plow right through them, snatching their little heads off their shoulders and breaking through their armor.

Something solid hit me, tossing me in the air, but like a cat, I twisted my body so I landed swiftly back on my hands and paws. The attacker was none other than Needo, turning to face me with that grotesque mug of his. It was then I realized how much of an advantage it was for me to have attacked in wolf form; he had no idea who I was, that I was the Saiyan who wanted him dead. I was just a creature from the mysterious depths of this world, but he would know as he took his final breath just who I was.

Before I could stop my thoughts from going there, I saw Jordane's broken body lying on the tournament floor, I heard her screams and saw the pride in her eyes wither away with each blow. Those memories fed the fire within me, building it to a raging inferno as I lunged for Needo, catching him off-guard with the ferocity of my strength. Each time he tried to gain the upper hand, I was one step ahead of him, blow after blow, being sure to injure him in ways that would cause him the most pain.

Jordane flashed behind my eyes again; her weak body in the ring, her limp body in my arms, and her beaten spirit lying in that hospital bed, in so much pain. The hate I felt for Needo then was insurmountable, and some part of me hated him even more now, because if that hadn't happened at the tournament…maybe, just maybe, I would be with Jordane now.

My rage had risen to such staggering intensity, my wolf form shriveled away and my Saiyan powers exploded in a rush of gold. I saw it click in Needo's eyes; he recognized me then. I didn't give him any chance to react. I took hold of his skull and bashed it into the cement wall, again, again, and again, until I finally heard something crack and gurgle nauseatingly. My clawed hand dug at his chest, ripping through dry muscle tissue and flesh until I opened his ribcage, full of dark sinew; I clasped my hand around his heart, squeezing just enough to keep it from beating, but not enough to kill him, not yet. I wanted him to look at me in fear, to know that I was going to kill him, and I was going to bask in his panic.

I ripped the cold sponge of life from his chest. His face was frozen in that expression of shock, drawing no more breath.

Satisfaction coursed through my bones, a raging storm quieted for the time being. As I looked down at Needo's corpse, the absence of blood and gore disturbed me. What the hell was he?

I wasn't in any hurry to change back into wolf skin, now that the ambush factor was gone; I was clothed in hyper-extension vest and pants, compliments of Bulma's genius, to wear for turning in…tense situations, so I could go back and forth between both forms.

The factory was empty enough, but it would be wise to track those that ran. That is, unless they disappeared into thin air again…

I caught something in my peripheral; a flash of red that I was quick to dismiss until I recognized the shape. Two triangles, meeting at their singular high point, each one with a white R on both sides; the insignia was painted on an unoccupied space on the decrepit wall, but its mere presence there made my body fall cold.

What was the Red Ribbon Army insignia doing in this factory?

I paid meticulous attention to my surroundings now; what few machines stood untouched looked to be armor battle suits…or exterior shells for something else entirely. The Red Ribbon symbol was also etched in the metal, on the left side chest plate. Other mechanical equipment that lay in ruins were computers, and other large machines that looked to hold thousands of discs—computer chips.

But it couldn't be. My father put an end to the Red Ribbon Army years ago… And I erased what was left of Gero's legacy when the last of Cell's being disintegrated in my Kamehameha wave. _Is the Red Ribbon Army planning a comeback? _I couldn't imagine Dr. Gero having anything to do with Needo, Heikan, or anything that's gone on… It just seemed too vast. Then again, I ought to remember just how devastatingly grand his last creation was…

A ruckus stirred up outside the walls of the factory, and I immediately pursued the sound into the trees. Those that escaped the factory—I couldn't be sure if it was all of them—were being mauled by a handful of wolf creatures. Two black, one blonde. Before I could give a disciplinary howl, Vince had ripped the throat out of the last living enemy.

"What the hell are you guys—?"

"Thought you could use the extra noses. And fangs," Elliot said, now in human form.

"Before you blow a gasket, just hear us out," Vince took over, cracking his neck after shifting back. "Given that these creatures have been known to 'disappear into thin air', as Krillin put it, we thought we'd follow you but stay back just long enough in case any tried to escape, and maybe then we could see where they were escaping to."

"Only we kinda sorta stopped them cuz they were running our way and—"

I interrupted Ian's explanation, "And got attacked?" I asked with a snap.

"Found out," Ian clarified. "We were the attackers, not the victims."

Shaking my head, I tried to shed off my anger with it. I didn't want to get pissed; arguing with them didn't do any good. I noticed three others missing. "And the girls?"

"They're back at home. We managed to convince them to sit this one out, for now."

I began walking back in the direction of the factory. We'd cleared the tree-line just as Vince asked, "So what did you find?" The solemn stare I gave him was enough incentive. "Must not be anything good," he muttered.

"I found what looks to be a construction factory for the Red Ribbon Army."

They all knew enough of my past enemies to know those three words weren't to be taken lightly. "You're shitting me…I thought those sons of bitches were wiped out…" Elliot grunted.

I looked back to the factory, and that heavy feeling in my gut seemed to be weighing me down again. This probably was not the only factory they had, if they were indeed planning a grand return.

Without much warning, I raised my arm and hurled an energy blast toward the warehouse, the small ball of ki devastating enough to combust the factory from the inside, sending pieces of equipment and glass shards flitting through the air.

In my other hand, I held a broken portion of the body armor that bore the Red Ribbon insignia; evidence.

I scaled the mountain paths from which I came along with my pack, moving at an unhurried pace, for my mind was kicking into high gear as to what I encountered today. Vince kept pace alongside me.

He didn't bother to ask me what I didn't know. "Haven't seen much of you these last few days… How are you holding up?"

I merely shrugged. "I'm fine," I said with blasé laziness. He must have taken it as a depressed tone. Or, Vince being Vince, he was just too stubborn to take the hint.

"You sure you don't want to talk about anything?"

"I'm sure," I answered with a sharp hint of irritancy. I should have known better; letting my snappy, defensive attitude come through would only encourage him.

"Gohan, have you talked about what happened at the tournament with anyone yet?"

"No, because there's nothing to talk about," I said, glaring at him as we walked. "What happened, happened; it's over and done with."

"And Jordane is on the other side of the globe because of it."

"And she's safer."

Vince sighed, continuing for another two steps before asking, "And you're not going to do anything?"

"Exactly what is it do you think I should do, Vince?"

I should have known his answer before he boldly spoke it. "Go to her, tell her how much she means to you, tell her that you want her in your life."

As if it's so simple. "It isn't up to me," I retorted. "She belongs to other people over there—her family, her friends that have been with her since childhood—she belongs to them. I have no right to claim her, nor do I want to."

He scoffed. "You're many convincing things, Gohan, but a liar is not one of them. At the club and the tournament, I could see it; every time you looked at her, it was all you could do not to scoop her up in your arms, or reach out for her hand, or just kiss her. Your inner battles aren't as invisible as you think they are."

Shaking my head, I spat a harsh breath. "I don't want to talk about this." Before I could pick up my pace, Vince stepped in my path. His eyes were full of concern, but not without swift wisdom.

"Look, I get it. Okay? I may not go around defending the earth against powerful foes and lead a dodgy life, but I get the need to protect the people you love from all of it—especially from yourself. You should know that I understand this more than anyone, because you were there. You were the one I leaned on when I was battling my demons and you helped me learn to live my life the way I wanted. Why won't you let me return the favor?"

Subconsciously, I started squeezing the piece of metal in my hand; not with enough force to crush it, but plenty enough for the sharp edges to cut into my palm. "Because I don't need anyone to help me."

Vince shook his head gently from side to side, more in amazement than an objection. "That is your answer to everything… You may have become self-sufficient already in your life, Gohan, but being a fucking martyr isn't doing yourself any favors."

I bore my teeth, which were still defined in sharpened points. "And you think just because you spent two-thirds of your life being a martyr that you must be an expert at sniffing one out then, huh?"

"Oh, no. I'm no expert, but I'd say resorting to every measure possible to push away the girl you love just to spite yourself reeks of martyrdom."

I didn't know why or how, but hearing someone else utter out loud that I loved Jordane was somehow a more distinct punch in the ribs than when I had silently admitted it to myself. "I did it to protect her!" I roared in his face.

"Yeah, like you did with us?"

"Except it didn't work with you because I didn't do it right—!"

Next I knew, he shoved me in the chest, and I stumbled back one step before regaining my balance. "It didn't work with us because it wasn't your fucking choice!" Unsure of how to counter his statement, I let him continue. "You helped me escape my family from hell and paved my way to the family I was meant to be in—and that family included you! You can't make everyone's choices for them, Gohan, even if you _think_ you know what's best! You couldn't dictate our fates, and you can't dictate Jordane's! She sees something special in you, she sees the benefits of being a part of your inner circle in spite of the perils, just like we all do." He brought out his arm, gesturing to our pack brothers, who stood in a solemn circle around us.

"I'm fucking tired of watching you settle with far less than what you deserve, keeping yourself from something that makes you happy," Vince said, his voice quieting, but not weakening. Taking a few steps toward me, he stopped at my shoulder. "You're my brother, and I love you. I just want you to be happy, all of us do. Instead of thinking all you do is bring chaos in people's lives, remember all the good you've done for people, too, before you go shutting them out."

I shared a lengthy, deep stare with him for the few seconds he was beside me, until he disconnected the chain and gesture toward the others, leading them onward. I lingered for a moment, taking deep breaths. One side of me clutched and grabbed for Vince's preaching words; the other side just pushed those words away.

The first thing I tended to when I reached home was showing Dad the shard of metal with the Red Ribbon insignia. His expression was resigned, but not without the weight of dread. I elaborated into what I found, every detail unsettling him more. It wasn't often you saw a frown on my father's face, but a severe grimace of discontent was another thing entirely.

"This definitely isn't over," he murmured grimly. "I think things are going to get worse before they get better." I nodded with him in solemn agreement. Before my mother came in, I slipped away to my bedroom, not staying there long at all.

I retreated to the seclusion of the barn. I didn't want to be in the presence of anyone human—anyone who could speak. The pacifying sounds of horses breathing and gnawing on food helped ease my anxiety. Lightning, as always, stayed close to me as I sat in the corner of his stall up against a bale of grass hay, watching him sift through and eat. Every now and then, he would lean his head over to touch his muzzle to my head, as if to check on me. I smiled at the feather-light tickling sensation of his long whiskers brushing my forehead.

At some point, I drifted off. The little cat-nap was probably the most solid I'd slept in a week. I probably could have slept peacefully through the rest of the night, if I wasn't shaken awake by my father. The expression on his face scared me.

"We've got trouble."

I brushed hay off of me and took to the air beside my father, in the same clothes I was in earlier that day.

Once I was aware enough, I could sense something—not a singular power, but a collected energy source. It made my stomach churn and my heart felt heavy. I hadn't felt anything that horrid in half a decade.

Dad was right; this definitely was not over, and it would certainly get worse.

The dark energy led us to a chain of islands down south. Before we even landed, we saw the source of the dark energy, hovering just above the clouds just beneath the barrier of earth's atmosphere; a gaping black hole, filled with nothing but abyss and lightning. It looked big enough to swallow the island whole. Nothing but pure evil energy seeped from its confines, rendering me ill. Malicious energy always had that effect on me.

Neither my father nor I had ever seen this before. It wasn't a regular black hole—that would be impossible—it was more along the lines of a rip between dimensions. As to which dimension was on the other side, who knew; either way, it wasn't good news. Dad had told me what he saw before he blacked out and lost Needo all those days ago; he'd caught a glimpse of Needo and his reinforcements escaping through what looked like a black portal. But much smaller than this.

A faint boom sounded off on the island below us; fire and smoke billowed from the hills and city, and I could hear screams of innocents. Without a single thought, I hurled down for the island, my father on my sail, Super Saiyans as we landed. I immediately went to the aid of a group of people trapped in a burning resort, who all screamed and cried from upper windows and balconies. It only took mere blinks, taking one handful of people to safety and going back for the others.

Just when I thought I had everyone, the man I held point toward the hotel, sputtering through coughs panicked cries in a language I couldn't understand. The answer was made clear when, in the distance, I could hear the cries of children far up in the hotel.

In a breath, I was back up at the same balcony where I found the man. No children. The kids must be trapped somewhere…

"Hello?!" I listened, zoning out the crackling flames to pick up whimpers or cries for help. Sure enough, I caught a faint cry, from a back room.

I broke the door down with the flick of a finger, emerging into a storm of flames and smoke. I didn't find any children on the beds—until I heard their cries coming from the closet. I pushed through flames and charred smoke to get to them. With my senses in hyper-drive, the fire felt nothing more than a warm summer's glow, my skin unmarked. The two children first screamed and cowered when they saw me; when I reached out my hand, the little girl, who looked to be Goten's age, gawked at me quizzically. I didn't wait for them to muster the trust to move forward; I gently grabbed her arm and her younger brother's. They halted against me when they saw the wall of flames that now blocked our path. Picking them both up in each arm, I focused my energy to create a barrier around us—not to protect me, but the kids—and I walked through the massive blaze, not one cinder touching the precious cargo I held.

Once cleared, I booked it for the balcony—just as the roof gave way with a loud groan. I hit the ground below and rolled, bracing the two kids against me. We cleared the falling building with just inches to spare.

At this point, firemen took both children from me and to their father in an ambulance, providing them oxygen through a breathalyzer. The scene around me was chaotic; police, fire, medical teams warmed and scoured, but amongst them, I couldn't find my father.

It didn't take long for me to spot him, being hurled into the ground like an anvil. Looking up, I found the culprit—a large, dark figure, hairless, with long, lean extremities. Its eyes glowed lemon yellow, glaring straight at me. I caught more movement in the corner of my eye; more of them.

We first encountered these things after the tournament...and like Needo and Heikan, they were not easy to kill.

"Dad, you all right?" I called, not taking my eyes off the enemy.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dad answered, dusting himself off. "More of these damn things," he then grumbled. He may like a challenge, but nearly indestructible enemies that multiplied like fleas weren't his cup of tea.

"We need to lead them away from here," I said, a quiet suggestion that I knew he heard, for if not having already crossed his mind.

Taking to the sky once more, we led the platoon of monsters out toward the sea. We had to make this quick, find some way to infiltrate that black hole.

We wouldn't get the chance; in midair, we were both snared. By what, it wasn't clear. It felt as though I was bound by rope, but nothing was there. Until I caught hues of purple shining in the moon's light, strings illuminated like threads spun by a spider. They were what bound us, and it wasn't until I stopped struggling that I realized how much my energy had been sapped—unnaturally so—just from wiggling free. I knew this technique…

My ears caught a quiet, hissing laughter; more like a devious giggle. It was there these ropes I knew had to originate from, but the familiarity of the face still threw me off.

_No…_

"Now, now, you look like you've seen a ghost," the voice chimed in amusement.

I _was_ seeing a ghost; no, not one, but many, surrounding me and my father, sneering and laughing in our faces. I had a feeling deep inside, however, that these were in fact _not_ ghosts.

The presence of the familiar, blue faces disconcerted me, but I fought against the drain of being in their trap, calling my inner demon to give me confidence and fire.

"Is the little Saiyan going to come out and play?" a deeper, throatier voice bellowed mockingly behind me; my energy continued to build.

Oh, how easily they could fool themselves into thinking they had the upper hand…as to how they forgot how easily I dispatched of them three years ago, it was purely amusing.

Through the seeping drain and burning rise of my power, I grinned, sparks of crackling energy typifying my sudden delight for the situation.

"I'm coming out to play, all right."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'M BACK!**

**The plot thickens…about damn time!  
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**Y'all are probably sick of me apologizing but I will keep doing it; I am so sorry for the inactivity. I've been so occupied with work and other life matters, not to mention I've just been stuck in a general writer's block for just about all of my stories. The only productive thing I've been doing as far as writing's concerned is doing a lot of story reconstruction, and that was primarily for my original novel trilogy, as it needed an update and modification. **

**Still working on getting a good lead in my chapters here, Chapter 38 will be posted pretty soon, it's all written up! If you're feeling up to immersing yourself in Black Moon from the beginning while you wait, there's no better time to do it than now! I just updated all current chapters, fixing errors, adding a couple new things, trimming back on some of the excessive filler…things that I've been dying to fix but just wasn't up to dealing with the whole reposting process. Finally got around to it! While you're at it, listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify to accompany you on your reading journey ;) **

**Later, lovelies!  
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**- J**

***Listen to the Black Moon playlist on Spotify**

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**(Links are in my profile)* **


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